“Right away.”
Kelo turned back to the mast. If he poured melted resin from the top, it should follow the channels of the runes down—he’d carved them so they’d all connect.
A nearby sailor cleared her throat. “You know, I’m from Yellowfin. We didn’t have any spirit storm, and we certainly don’t have any house with yellow resin.”
“Maybe it was a different village?”
“Or maybe you made it up.”
Kelo flashed her a grin. “It will look better in yellow.”
The sailor laughed.
The captain brought the resin, as well as a cooking cannister. Kelo dropped the yellow resin into the top and waited for it to melt. I have to trust my instincts, he thought. Without Mayara, they’re all I have.
A few seagulls circled the top of the mast, calling to one another. He spent the rest of the journey adding the resin to the runes and imagining what story he was going to tell the queen to convince her to change a far more important tradition.
HE FINISHED THE RUNES A FEW HOURS BEFORE THE SLENDER SHIP reached Yena and had ample time to observe the approach to the glorious capital city of Belene. And it was indeed as glorious as all the songs, stories, and poems claimed:
Built on the back of a turtle shell that was more enormous than could be imagined, the upper levels of the city were carved into the rib cage of a leviathan on top of the shell. Palm trees crested each rib in neat rows, and beautifully delicate homes were suspended beneath the ribs—these marvels were where the wealthy lived. But the rest of the citizenry lived in just as much splendor. Below the ribs, the lower city, on the shell of the turtle itself, was sheathed in mother-of-pearl. And to the west of the dock, at the base of the tallest tower, was a standing circle of vertical ribs, encircling the famed coronation grove.
“I heard the city streets are all nacre,” Kelo said to the sailor from Yellowfin.
“Indeed they are,” she said with a snort. “Damn impractical too. You aren’t allowed any carts or anything with wheels. Hooved animals are right out. Can’t risk damaging the mother-of-pearl. I’ve heard that Yenites spend half their income on repairs.”
Surely the queen of a city that values such beauty will listen to an artist’s plea, right? he thought. “Do you know where I go for an audience with the queen?”
“I doubt they’ll let you waltz up to the palace and say hello, but if you want to try”—she pointed toward a tower that looked like a spiral shell—“that’s it there.”
He thanked the sailor, then the captain as he disembarked with the other passengers, mostly wealthy folk come to visit the city that was the jewel of the islands. He hadn’t spoken with any of them, and they, seeing that he was employed with carving the rune, hadn’t tried to interrupt him, which was fine with him—he wasn’t here to make friends.
Shouldering his pack—and wincing as it bounced against his bandaged wounds—he made his way through the city.
The streets, as promised, were paved with mother-of-pearl. All the buildings too were covered in it. And while he appreciated the effort, now that he was seeing it up close . . . it was overkill. Maybe if the pristine shell could have been maintained—in other words, if no people whatsoever lived in the city, walked through the city, or did anything but gaze from a distance—then it would have been a beautiful sight. But as it was . . . Up close, the city looked sad. Half the shells were broken or missing, giving the buildings the appearance of having been in a fight. And of having lost, he decided.
As for the famous streets . . . The sailor was right. Paving city streets with delicate shell mosaics was not practical. Kelo appreciated the vision, though. The original city planners certainly had style.
He weaved between the other pedestrians—everyone was on foot, many carrying loads. Poles were laid across shoulders, with crates or barrels hanging from either end. People also carried pots on their heads, cushioned by a nest of fabric. And everyone, young or old, working or playing, wore thick, stiff sandals. Even the children didn’t dare run barefoot through the street. The broken shells would rip their feet to shreds. He wondered why they didn’t change the streets. Use the nacre to create some other kind of beautiful art piece, one that didn’t need to be walked on.
Musing over this proved a nice distraction from worrying about what to say to the queen, and before he knew it, Kelo was at the palace.
It was only when he stood in front of the palace that he at last acknowledged the massive flaw in his plan: Who am I to speak to the queen?
As that question rippled through his mind, he admired the queen’s seat of power. The palace was curved like a shell and had a semicircle of spires, each taller than the next, that ringed its heart. Iridescent, its walls looked like a rippling rainbow as the sun played over the mother-of-pearl. As near as Kelo could tell, there was a single entrance: an ornate bridge carved in the shape of a wave. It was the only bit of the palace not covered in the luminous shell. Instead it was carved of a translucent blue stone that was like nothing Kelo had ever seen.
He joined the stream of pedestrians on the blue wave bridge, feeling out of place between the courtiers and palace workers. At the gate—an intricately shaped iron gate that mimicked coral—he was stopped by a guard in a pristine white uniform.
“State your business.”
“I must speak with the queen,” Kelo said. He was acutely aware of how ridiculous his demand must sound. All the islanders probably wanted to speak to the queen at some point in their lives. What gave him the right to do so?
“Do you have an invitation from Her Majesty?”
“Um, no. But it’s a matter of importance. It concerns the spirit sisters being sent to the Island of Testing. I must speak with her before they arrive at Akena Island.”
“And the matter of importance?”
“My wife is among them. I wish to speak to the queen—”
The soldier’s face softened, and he laid a hand on Kelo’s shoulder. “You’re not the first to come on such a mission. You won’t be the last. Know that if she falls, your wife’s sacrifice will be honored, and if she succeeds, all of Belene—indeed all of Renthia—will be the safer for it.”
“She can’t go! She’s my wife, and we—”
“You love her. I know. I’ve heard it all, believe me. She has elderly parents. Or a baby. Or ten children, all of whom will starve without her. She’s sick or injured. Or you are.” The soldier nodded at Kelo’s bandages. “Perhaps you want to claim she doesn’t truly have powers. You aren’t the first, and you won’t be the last to lose a loved one to our way of life. But it is because of the test that we are able to have a way of life at all. I know. I lost a daughter to the island. You think I didn’t try to see the queen? You think I didn’t plead for her? Even tried to bribe the Silent Ones, and when that didn’t work, I tried to rescue her.”
Kelo felt hope drain out of him, as if he were a sack of sand that had been pierced. “I’m sorry for your loss. What happened when you tried to rescue her?”
“I failed, of course. One against twelve Silent Ones? She was taken to the island, and she lasted for a full week before the spirits got her.” There was pride in his voice—Kelo supposed that was all he had left. If he didn’t feel pride, he’d be swamped with sorrow.
“Then you must understand why I have to try.”
“And you must understand why you cannot see the queen. Every test, she must send twelve women to possible death. She can’t listen to the pleas of their families. It would be too much to ask her to bear. You cannot add to her sorrow. Every guard, every courtier, every counselor will tell you the same.”
Kelo tried again. “But if she would only consider ending the tests—”
“She cannot, for the sake of all of Belene.” The soldier’s pity had an edge of steel in it now. “Go home. Rebuild your life. Hope for your loved one to survive but don’t count on it.”
This couldn’t be it! He’d traveled all the way here, and he was so close! The queen was wit
hin these walls. She could stop the test before it began. “There’s still a chance that this time, the queen calls off the tests. If I could only speak to her for one minute before the test begins—”
“I am deeply sorry, but it’s too late. All the spirit sisters have been taken from the strongholds and brought to a secret location for final training. In three days, they will be delivered to Akena Island.”
Kelo felt as if the blue stone bridge had shattered beneath him. “No, that can’t be.” He was supposed to have more time! The tests weren’t supposed to begin until there were a total of twelve spirit sisters. Unless Mayara was the twelfth. . . .
Gently but clearly, the guard said, “Your wife’s fate is in her own hands now. You can’t help her, and neither can the queen.”
QUEEN ASANA OF BELENE WISHED, NOT FOR THE FIRST TIME, SHE could chuck her crown into the ocean. Not literally, of course—the crown itself was a lovely band of black, ivory, and pink pearls that was at least a century old, which, coincidentally, was about how old Asana felt after she’d heard the news that a twelfth spirit sister had been identified and captured. She had received the news from her least favorite nobleman, Lord Maarte, whose oh-so-polite letter had informed her that he and the other Families were delivering the women for their final training.
The twelfth woman had been discovered after a spirit storm had devastated her fishing village—a storm that had hit in the exact location that Queen Asana had predicted, on the southern shore of the island of Olaku. But the Families had decided to dispatch the heirs to protect the Neran Stronghold on the northern shore, near the city of Kao, instead.
It had gotten a bit breezy there.
Innocent islanders died, while the Neran Family, snug and safe inside their fortress and guarded by the most powerful women in Belene, lost a few petals off their fancy rosebushes. If this woman hadn’t stepped in, it was probable that they all would have died.
And how do I repay her? By ruining—and endangering—her life.
Stomping into her private chambers, Asana scooped up a probably priceless heirloom pillow off a couch, squeezed it against her face, and screamed into it. Sadly, it did not make her feel better.
A voice spoke up from one of the other reclining couches. “You could try poisoning someone. That always makes me feel better.”
With as much dignity as she could manage, Asana restored the pillow to the couch and fluffed it back to its original plumpness. She’d forgotten that she’d requested her new adviser join her after her meeting—her adviser had been, in fact, waiting for Asana already when she’d stormed into her chambers. Keeping her voice mild, Asana said, “I’m never quite sure when you’re joking and when you’re serious.” Her new adviser was from Aratay, where she’d held a position of importance in the Aratayian queen’s palace. Her name was Lady Garnah.
“I’ve been told that’s part of my charm.” Lady Garnah smiled cheerfully. An older woman with a fondness for many-layered lace ruffled skirts, Garnah did everything cheerfully, from eating pineapple (which she was currently doing, with juice dripping off her chin) to assisting in the major trauma ward in the healer’s school (which she’d done this morning). Asana found her relentless joy to be both refreshing and fascinating. Perhaps because it’s so different from my relentless doom and gloom.
“Come now,” the garishly dressed woman said, patting beside her. “Tell old Garnah your problems, and I’ll tell you who to kill to fix them. Never met a problem that a little murder couldn’t solve.”
Asana laughed.
She hadn’t expected to ever laugh again, not since she’d been crowned and had her husband, her daughter, and her elderly parents taken from her. She’d had precious little to laugh at.
She’d been introduced to Garnah a month ago, while her capital city, Yena, was recovering from a vicious spirit storm. Asana had collapsed after the attack. Her own physicians blamed exhaustion, but Garnah, a visiting doctor who’d come to the islands to study the medicinal properties of their indigenous plants, had correctly identified a toxin in Asana’s bloodstream and cured her.
She’d then helped Asana poison the one who’d fed her that toxin. Not enough to kill them, but enough that they were still vomiting when the Silent Ones arrested them.
Naturally, Asana was fond of her.
“It’s the Families,” Asana said. “Specifically, the Family Neran. Several days ago, I told them a spirit storm was approaching their island, and they chose to defend their own home rather than help the people actually in danger.”
“Can’t you overrule them? You’re queen.”
“A title that comes with surprisingly little power.” Queens in other countries in Renthia might have true authority, but not the queen of Belene. The Families made certain of that. Asana flopped on one of the couches and removed her crown. She set it gently on a table, which was inlaid with mother-of-pearl mosaic like nearly everything in the palace. She rubbed her temples, wishing she had at least the authority to send her headache away. “I’m the official scapegoat for all that’s wrong on the islands. I’ve just gotten a report cataloging the extent of the damage, so you can expect a delegation from Olaku to be arriving within a few days to complain in person—rightfully—that the heirs, and therefore I, failed them.”
Ugh, it wasn’t fair.
She felt like a six-year-old thinking that, but it was true. She hadn’t asked for this “honor.” She’d simply been unlucky. Three years ago, she’d been one of the heirs, a lesser one in fact. It had been her turn in the grove—every heir was required to spend a certain number of days per month in the sacred coronation grove, so that someone qualified and trained was present in case the current queen died. Without a queen, all the “tame” spirits on the island turned wild pretty much instantaneously. But a new queen could be crowned only in the grove. So to minimize the death and destruction between the passing of one queen and the crowning of the next, every heir took their turn there. No one had expected the queen to die on Asana’s shift.
But she did. Lucky me.
She’d emerged from the grove as Queen Asana, and then she’d found out how much worse being queen was than being an heir. I wouldn’t have thought that possible.
But it was. The instant she’d emerged, she’d been informed by the Families that her loved ones had been taken to a safehold for their protection. No, she couldn’t see them. No, she couldn’t know where they were. No, she couldn’t know which Family held them. And no, she couldn’t tell anyone they’d been taken.
If she wanted to ensure they remained protected, though . . .
She’d tried once to free them, a week after her coronation. In retaliation, the Families had had her husband secretly killed and informed her that her daughter would follow if she did not act “for the good of Belene.”
She’d been made a widow, and the Families had seen to it that no one even knew.
Since then, she hadn’t dared speak or act against them. Which was why she could do nothing about what happened on Olaku except scream into a pillow and vent to her only adviser who wasn’t connected to one of the ruling Families of Belene. So long as they held her parents and daughter hostage, the Families were the true power in Belene. I’m just a puppet . . . and a scapegoat.
“They’ll probably try to kill you at some point,” Asana mused out loud. The Families didn’t like anyone they couldn’t control.
“They can try,” Garnah said. “I’m remarkably difficult to kill.” She popped another chunk of pineapple into her mouth. “But just so I can be prepared, who precisely do you think will try to kill me?”
“Everyone,” Asana said. “Welcome to Belene.”
Picking up her crown again, the queen sighed heavily. She had no right to whine like this when her people had suffered. But there was just so blasted little she could do! She had already ordered workers be sent to help with rebuilding, along with supplies of food and fresh water. It wouldn’t be enough to replace the lives lost, though. Unnecessarily lost.
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The thing was, she wouldn’t mind the Families ruling the islands if they weren’t so damn bad at it. And if they hadn’t taken my family and killed my Camuk. Her beloved Rokalara had been fifteen years old when Asana was crowned. She’s eighteen now, a young woman ready for the world, and I’m not there to guide her.
Then again, I can barely guide anyone as queen.
“You need to find a way to take power,” Garnah said, as if hearing that bitter thought. “For your sake and mine. Just because I can defend myself against assassins doesn’t mean I enjoy the anxiety of being a target.”
Asana snorted. “A nice thought, but impossible.” She heaved herself off the couch. Her joints ached a little more than they used to—all the constant stress, and the lack of any real exercise. She knew she didn’t take good enough care of herself, but it was hard to worry about that when there was always some other disaster that needed her attention, in addition to the primary burden of protecting the land from the sea. She’d been warned about that—the constant strain and the drain of keeping the slumbering giants of the sea safely asleep—but the reality was so much more difficult than she’d imagined. It was the reason she needed the heirs to combat spirit storms; with all her power focused on the Deepest Blue, she didn’t have enough strength left over for other battles. And now she needed to find the stamina to handle the administrative duties to see her people through this latest disaster and the emotional fortitude to face the upcoming results of the latest test on Akena Island.
“I must increase the relief efforts in Olaku. And send a ‘Congratulations, you must be so proud’ letter to the parents of our newest spirit sister. She was all that kept it from being a massacre. An act of heroism that I rewarded by sending her to her probable death, yet another horrible thing in Belene I can’t stop or change.”
“You know,” Garnah said mildly, “sometimes I get the impression that you don’t like being queen.”
At that, the queen of Belene laughed so hard that she cried.
Chapter Nine
The Deepest Blue Page 10
