"Plowing, Captain," he said quietly.
"Plowing?"
"Soon they'll begin the planting. Barley and oats and onions and cabbage. There they'll plant ten apple, five pear, and two cherry trees," he said, pointing up to the mountains. "The ones donated by Osteria."
"Get on my horse, Froi," the captain said, holding out a hand to him. "You belong with us."
And as much as Froi wanted to belong with them, he stared at the hand the captain was holding out to him but didn't take it. "To do what?" he asked.
"The Guard protects the kingdom, Froi. The people of Lumatere honor us by allowing us to protect them," Perri explained.
"But I can't," he said, and he could feel the captain and Perri staring at him and he wanted to say all the right things to them. He had tried to explain to one of the workers the other day how being with the Guard and Evanjalin and the priest-king and Finnikin and Sir Topher had made him feel, but he hadn't been able to find the words for it.
"That's respect," she told him later when she understood what he was trying to say. He had never heard that word before and although he knew what he felt for them was fierce, it didn't mean he could protect the kingdom with them.
When the captain leaned down to hoist him onto the horse, Froi tried to speak but it came out like a whisper. "How can I be part of the Guard and protect this kingdom when I feel noting for it? Captain Trevanion, they made a mistake. Finnikin and Evanjalin and Sir Topher. I'm not from here. I can tell from the way the others watch me. It's as if they sense fings of me. Fings I don't know myself." He stared down at the ground because he didn't want the captain to see his face.
"Everyone looks at each other that way these days, Froi. Brothers and sisters, fathers and sons. Even those who were once lovers," the captain said.
Froi looked from Perri to the captain. "How can I die for any of the Guard? It's what you're supposed to do, isn't it? If somefing happens?"
Perri nodded.
"I wouldn't," he said truthfully. "I'd protect myself first."
Moss approached them, looking happy, but the smile left his face when he saw their expressions.
"You're Lumateran, Froi. You'd fight for this kingdom," Perri said, but Froi shook his head.
"It's just a word. Lumatere. Feel nofing for it, except for this patch of land I've worked on."
"Nothing. For no one?" Moss asked.
Froi thought for a moment. "I fink I'd die for Evanjalin. Probably Finnikin too."
"She is the queen," the Captain said firmly. "She's not Evanjalin, Froi."
"Whoever she is, I fink I'd die for her and Finnikin. Because that time in Sarnak when she came searching, sometimes I fink she didn't come back for that ring. It was for me." He realized it was the first time he had ever said anything like that out loud and it made him think of saying other things in his head that were the truth. "But I wouldn't die for anyone else. Not even you free or the priest-king or Sir Topher. I'd sell you out the first moment someone convinced me."
The captain gave a short laugh of disbelief, but he seemed amused all the same, and then Perri joined in.
"He would," Perri agreed. "I believe him."
Froi felt ashamed, but Perri flicked him under the chin with his thumb. "So would have I, Froi. At your age."
"I don't understand," Moss said. "Finnikin's lads from the village are begging us to let them train with the Guard."
"Climb up on my horse," the captain said with a sigh, his arm still extended.
Froi didn't dare disobey, and with a heavy heart he held on as they rode toward the palace. As he took in the Flatlands on both sides of the road, he realized that it scared him, all these people and all this work they had to do and the way some of the villagers who had worked around him would drop their planting tools and just cry. Men, too, not just women, and it was a different crying from what Lady Celie had done in Belegonia. It was the type of crying that gave him tears and most times he pretended there was dirt in his eyes. Deep down, Froi wanted it to go back to the time when it was just them hiding in the woods and there weren't so many people to feel sad for.
The captain slowed down at a Flatland village where everyone seemed to be working, and he could see the towers over the trees in the close distance and he knew they were almost entering the palace village.
"It's Lord August's estate," the captain explained. "Here is the deal, Froi. You can work the land, but we choose whose land. You continue your lessons with the priest-king. You make the queen happy."
Froi looked at him, not understanding.
"Perhaps you are right. You've not known this kingdom long. It takes time to love a land and a people and want to protect it, especially when those around you have eyes full of mistrust. It would be wrong for us to expect more from you now."
"But one day we will ask you again," Perri continued.
Froi stared at them. "But if I am the enemy?"
"Enemy to whom, Froi? To our queen?" Perri asked.
"Never. Not her."
"Then that is a start, Froi."
*** and then looked at the village of Sayles. "As long as I don't have to live inside the big house with Lord Augie and Lady Abian," he said. "Because if they're going to spend every night screwing—"
"Froi!"
The captain laughed for the second time that day, and Froi liked the sound of it.
"Queen's orders that you stay close," Perri said. "Do us a favor, Froi. Do not defy the queen's orders. She is frightful these days up in those mountains."
Froi nodded. "I'll stay. But you're wrong about the queen," he said, swinging off the captain's horse, looking out at the village he was to be a part of.
"About her being frightful these days?"
"No. About her being in the mountains. I saw her. This morning, but I kept my distance. Didn't want to shame her. She was wif the Monts and everyone around me ran to the road to greet her. She was off to help in some village. Bal... Bal... ?"
"Balconio," the captain said. He cursed as he exchanged looks with the others. "I'll go," he said. "Perri, can you go back to the palace and escort Sir Topher to the village of Balconio?"
Froi looked up at the captain, confused. "Everyone wants Finnikin to bond with her and not that prince from Osteria. Why is Finnikin not wif her?"
The captain sighed. "Same reason as you, Froi."
"Because he's not worvy?"
The captain placed a hand on Froi's shoulder as they made their way down the path toward Lord August's house. Froi liked the feel of it and understood why Finnikin always puffed out his chest when his father was around.
"He is in the queen's eyes," the captain said, "and she measures worth better than anyone I know."
* * *
Trevanion saw the queen the instant he arrived. She was dressed in peasant clothing like those around her, and she was hacking at the earth with the same determination he had seen when she walked ahead of them on their journey to Lumatere. One of the villagers with her pointed to Trevanion, and she turned and watched as he dismounted and strode toward her. He saw the slump in her shoulders as if she knew the time had come. Her guards appeared beside her, and Trevanion grabbed hold of them both in anger.
"You said they weren't to let me out of their sight, Captain Trevanion, and they haven't," the queen said calmly.
"They do not need defending, Your Highness," he said, glaring at the two guards before letting them go.
She handed the hoe to the worker alongside her. "Can you continue without me, Naill?"
"Of course, my queen."
She followed Trevanion to the manor house. "There's much work to be done here," she said.
"Yes," he acknowledged, "but not by you. We still have the borders closed for fear of reprisal from those kingdoms who have not yet acknowledged your reign," he explained. "There are collaborators of the impostor king who are yet to be rounded up. The Forest Dwellers have not come out of hiding."
"If I return to the palace, you'll lock me up like you and
Sir Topher did that time in Pietrodore," she accused. "Or have me surrounded by at least ten of the Guard."
"Yes," he said truthfully. "Because if something happens to you, my queen, I don't think we would survive."
"Then I must teach our people how to survive," she said. "Because they can't keep giving up every time something happens to their king or queen."
"Sir Topher's on his way," he said, and the sadness in her eyes stopped him from saying any more.
Later, when the sun began to disappear and the wind felt fierce on their skin, Sir Topher sat on the hill alongside the queen, watching the workers below.
"Next summer we will have a surplus of grain and barley and oats, and all the kingdoms around us will be keen to import our produce," she said. "The ambassador has also managed to secure interest from the Belegonians for produce from the river, and the export from the mines will please those kingdoms who no longer want to deal with the Sorelians for tin. And we have enough in the treasury to keep our people from starving until then. Within two years, Sir Topher, we will be on the road to some kind of prosperity."
"And perhaps at war," he said soberly.
"I walked through the meadow in the village of Gadros," she continued as if he had not spoken, "and I imagined that it could look like the one near the crossroads where I took ill with the priest-king. So I'm going to plant hollyhocks and wild strawberries and daffodils and daises and calendula and columbine." Despite her words, she was weeping and he forgot all protocol and placed his arm around her.
"I've crossed this kingdom many times over the last few weeks, Sir Topher," she whispered through her tears. "So many people. So many sad stories. To be responsible for so many souls. How did my father do it?"
"With the same expression on his face each day as you have now, my queen. With fear and with hope."
She wiped away her tears.
"Isaboe," he said gently. "These people do not need another peasant to help plow their fields. They want their queen. They want her in the palace, leading them."
"And a king?" she sniffed.
"I believe you have already chosen a king," he said quietly.
She rolled her eyes. "When I'm with the Monts, he hides himself in the Rock Village, when I'm in the Rock Village, he's in the Flatlands, and when I return to the palace, he'll hide himself with the Monts. I've become accustomed to passing him by."
"While he's been... traveling around the kingdom, he has written the constitution of the new Lumatere, which he wants you to look over, and I think he has convinced the king of Sarnak to try those who were responsible for the massacre of our people."
"In the Sarnak royal court or here?"
"Negotiations are taking place as we speak. Last correspondence I received from Finnikin had the king of Sarnak inviting us to the palace. We will be advising you not to attend, of course. Not until we know it is perfectly safe. Finnikin is also against the visit from Osteria and he's right. It's too soon. When we allow visitors into Lumatere, we must look as if we are truly back on our feet."
She sighed and stood, looking over the village where some of the guards were helping to thatch cottage roofs.
"When he returns, Isaboe, he will have made the most important decision, not only of his life but for this kingdom. You must have patience."
"Ask me to also maintain my pride, because it slowly dwindles away each day that he does not come to see me."
"You know how he feels about you, Isaboe."
"I know nothing," she said sadly. "He gives me nothing and I cannot rule with nothing. But I know what my people want. For me to have a king. So a king I will give them, even if he's not my first choice."
* * *
Trevanion waited for them on the road to the palace with several of the Guard and the horses. "Will you mount the horse, my queen?" he asked as she approached, holding the reins out to her.
"I'd prefer to walk," she said quietly. It was the road the impostor king and his men had used to take the women and girls of Lumatere to the palace. The road where they used to hang the children of men who chose to rebel.
"It would be easier for us if you rode, my queen," Sir Topher suggested.
She stopped for a moment, shame on her face as she looked up at both men. "If the truth be told ... I don't think I'm ready to return ... to my home."
Trevanion was silent, remembering the first time he had reentered the palace. It was still full of memories of the horror he had witnessed that terrible night all those years ago.
"We have prepared the eastern wing for you, Isaboe," Sir Topher said gently. "It has not been touched for the last five decades."
She nodded, relief in her expression. "If I promise to return on the next day of rest, then we can invite the people to celebrate with me. It could be a celebration of our journey back to some kind of normality." Her eyes held a plea.
"That is five days from now," Sir Topher said reluctantly.
"The priestess of Lagrami has moved her novices back to their original cloister and is keen to have me visit. The cloister is not far from the palace, so it may be the perfect place to stay until then. I can visit the people of the palace village. They were once my neighbors, and they treated my sisters and brother and me as if we belonged to them." She fought to hold back her tears.
Sir Topher caught Trevanion's eye and nodded. "I will ride ahead to the cloister and have Lady Milla organize the festivities to celebrate your return to the palace."
As they traveled on, Trevanion politely repeated his request for her to mount the horse.
"I hear you found Froi," she said, politely ignoring it. "Keep an eye on him, Captain Trevanion. Let him play peasant farmer, but remind him he belongs to the queen."
"He doesn't think he's worthy."
She stopped for a moment. "Froi? Humble?"
A hint of a smile touched Trevanion's lips. "For a moment or two."
"When I choose to call him back, he will have no right to refuse."
"Yet you haven't exercised the same right to call Finnikin back."
She stopped again. "You speak out of place, Captain, and too much conversation today has revolved around your absent son."
He nodded. "And for that I apologize."
"For what part are you apologizing?" she asked.
"For what part would you like me to apologize?"
She held his gaze, and he remembered this steadfast look of hers from the time in the prison mines. He sighed, gazing beyond her to where the Flatlands were beginning to look rich and dark, the soil in perfectly aligned mounds.
"I belong to queen and country first," he said after a while, "but I am his father, Isaboe. You will have to pardon me on this occasion for speaking bluntly, but I will always want to tear out the heart of anyone who causes him pain, and whether you're the queen or Evanjalin, you have that power. You always have. For feeling that way, I apologize."
"And you think I'd use such power?"
He didn't answer, and she continued to walk.
"When the time comes to tear out the heart of anyone who causes him pain, Captain Trevanion, know this," she said fiercely. "I will fight you to be first in line."
After a moment, he smiled. "Will you mount the horse, my queen?"
"No," she replied, also with a smile.
They entered the village of Sennington, and the villagers ran toward the road to greet her.
"Is Lady Beatriss home, Tarah?" she asked one of the peasant women, whose cheeks flushed with pleasure at the queen using her name.
"Should be soon, my queen. She's down by the river with Vestie."
The queen smiled her thanks and took the small gifts made for her by the children. "Could you locate Lady Beatriss, Captain Trevanion?" she asked without looking up from the villagers. "I would like to rest here before I present myself to the priestess."
Trevanion knew exactly where to find Beatriss. He had watched her disappear behind the manor house and walk down to the river many times. Part of him wanted to keep his
distance and call out rather than join her by that tree, but the yearning inside him was too strong and he found himself walking toward her. Yet he could not go all the way. He knew what lay before him. A grave. With more buried than their dead baby. Like most days, Beatriss was with the child, and he wondered at her ability to adore a reminder of the times her body had been savaged by the impostor and his men.
"The queen is waiting to see you, Lady Beatriss," he said from his position on the slope.
She nodded, as if it was the most natural thing for him to be there, and then walked toward him. "She is returning to the palace?" she asked.
"Yes."
The child looked at him from where she stood by the grave, and he returned her stare, this strange miniature Beatriss. But then she went back to busying herself with her seeds.
"Your silence makes things difficult, Trevanion," Beatriss said quietly. "It would be wrong to pretend we have nothing to say, so I will be the one to speak. I cannot go back to being who I was, or desire what I once felt. The thought of a man touching me, any man ..." She swallowed, unable to finish, and he nodded, choking back something inside of him that ached to be let loose. He turned to walk away, feeling as if his insides were splintering.
Her voice stopped him. "I woke with your name on my lips every morning. Like a prayer of hope. For now, that's all I can offer."
He hesitated, remembering something Finnikin had said to him on their journey. That somehow, even in the worst of times, the tiniest fragments of good survive. It was the grip in which one held those fragments that counted.
"Then for now, my Lady Beatriss," he said, "what you have to offer is more than enough for me. I'll wait."
She sighed and shook her head. "How long will you wait, Trevanion? A man like you?"
"A man like me will wait for as long as it takes."
They stood and watched the child sprinkle seeds around the grave, humming a sweet tune to herself. When she dropped the little cup that held the seeds, Trevanion walked over to where she stood by the headstone and read the words inscribed upon it: Evanjalin. Beloved child of Trevanion and Beatriss.
He bent to pick up the cup, placing it into the child's hand. On the earth beside the grave was a stray seed. As he laid it on the rich mound of dirt, he felt tiny fingers press into his.
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