“But they had done nothing. They were farmers, priests, students…” said Jaimin.
“Have you ever killed anyone, son?” the general asked.
“Yes, I have,” Jaimin said.
“Did you know whether they were a farmer or a priest or a student?”
“They wore a uniform,” he said.
“They wore a uniform. Did you know whether they had put that uniform on because they believed in what it stood for, or whether they had put it on out of fear?”
“No,” Jaimin said.
“Right,” said the general. “You don’t ask. You don’t care. Later, you might care, and many of those who led the invasion lost their minds when they started to care.”
“What happened to them?” Jaimin asked.
“Some took their own lives. Some rebelled and were killed for it. Many just disappeared—recruited into the purple army, I’d suspect. I’m not sure what would have happened to me had I not been stationed here.”
“I don’t understand,” Jaimin said.
“Being here on the island, helping to repair the palace and the city, was my redemption. It’s kept me sane all these years. And when you showed up with news Radovan had been cured—you can’t imagine my joy. We’ve all done things we hate ourselves for. So, when we’re given the opportunity to fix things…to change course…”
“I see now,” Jaimin said.
“Anyway, you have my full support, son. The palace, the island, is yours.”
As evening set in, a thick fog crept up over the docks on the northeastern coast of Celmarea. A small port had been constructed here to store goods and to service Destaurian warships, cargo vessels, and small fishing vessels.
After dark, most visitors to the port slept on their ships, as lodging onshore was limited. The piers, warehouses, and boardwalks were guarded overnight by a small squad of soldiers.
This particular evening saw a surge of activity on and around the docks, due to the desperate hunt for the assassins. The number of soldiers patrolling the area had tripled. Every civilian had been questioned.
And yet, the two hooded figures moving beneath a pier had managed to escape detection. They had been trained well to be indistinguishable from the shadows.
The two had stolen a small rowboat and stashed it on the sand beneath the pier. Silently, they slid the boat across the sand into the surf and climbed in. The underbelly of the pier smelled of tar, decaying algae, waterlogged wood, and salt. Remaining in the shadows, the pair paddled out to where the pier ended.
“Farther,” said one at the back of the boat, sternly.
“We’ll be spotted. Let’s leave it off here.”
“It’s too close in. They’ll notice.”
“I’m betting they won’t. It’s deep, and there’s water weeds taller than you or me.”
“But…”
“Who’s in charge here?”
“Yes, miss.”
They pulled the canvas cloth off their prize. One of them lifted Elaina’s body, and the other strained to pick up the stone that was tied to her legs by a rope. The rowboat nearly capsized, but the two managed to set Elaina and the rock into the water at the same time without too much of a splash.
The rock pulled Elaina steadily down until it settled silently on the sea floor. Her limp arms lifted before her as if she were catching a ball. Her long, brown hair swayed and danced in the cold current, matching the motion of the giant seagrass that rose to her neck.
After supper, under heavy guard, Jaimin visited the beach to survey the progress of the excavation. The army had already removed a towering pile of limestone with their digging machines. They were getting into some areas of sandstone, so the progress was slowing, but they assured Jaimin they were on track to reach the Kel-sei within a day.
Next, Jaimin went upstairs to his assigned room, which had belonged to Elaina’s mother. Most of Princess Andienna’s belongings, including her provocative art and her personal library, had been relegated to storage after the invasion, but there was one reminder of her presence: the two polished wooden cribs that had held Eleonora and Elaina were still there, up against a wall. The room had been thoroughly cleaned and refreshed by maintenance staff, and fragrant forest flowers were set out in a silver vase on the chest of drawers.
Jaimin wasn’t sure if he would be able to sleep, but the luxuriously dressed bed in front of him was inviting. Perhaps he could rest for just a little while.
He donned the silk nightshirt and pants that had been left for him, extinguished all the lamps except for the one by the bed, and was about to turn down the top cover when he heard a faint knock at the door. Confident the soldiers outside would have screened for any threats, he unlocked the door and opened it a bit. It was Nastasha, in a white silk nightgown.
“Hi,” she said. “I thought you might not want to be alone. And…I don’t want to be alone.”
“Where’s Mascarin?” Jaimin asked.
“In his room, asleep.”
“I thought you two would be in the same room.”
“We’re not married.”
“Well, it just seems…well, come on in,” he said. She entered the residence and he locked back up. “To be honest, I was going to try to get some rest,” Jaimin said. “You’re exhausted too. You can hardly keep your eyes open, huh?”
“May I sleep on your couch?” she asked.
“That won’t be comfortable. You’re welcome to share the bed with me,” he said.
She smiled, because she saw nothing wrong with that idea, and she knew he didn’t either. They turned down the bedding and slid into bed beside each other. Guiding her abundant golden hair to one side, Nastasha sank her head into her pillow and watched Jaimin settle in.
“I’m not going to be able to stay awake,” she said.
“Don’t try,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Nastasha thought Jaimin looked stronger and more mature than he ever had. She wanted nothing more than to see him succeed. “No matter what happens,” she told him, “you don’t ever have to feel alone.”
“Thank you. Neither do you.”
New thoughts raced through her head—thoughts she would normally have tried to keep to herself, but, since Jaimin could read her thoughts, she didn’t see the point, and she started confessing aloud: “I…I…still can’t believe what I’ve done, Jaimin. Because of what Elaina said. Because of who Elaina was. Because I so wanted to be like her. Unafraid…”
“You acted for your country. For the ones you love. For me,” he said.
“That’s true. But now, isn’t it just selfish for me to stay with Mascarin? To take pleasure in him?”
“Do you love him?” Jaimin asked.
Nastasha smiled again, not because she had an answer for Jaimin’s question, but because it was a very good question. “I…don’t know. Not like I love you. I’m physically attracted to him for sure, and there is more, but I’m not sure what the ‘more’ is…”
Jaimin thought about this a bit. “Well, people are different. Why should we expect all love to feel the same?”
“You’re right,” she said.
“Something about Mascarin draws you,” Jaimin said, “and you can’t ignore it.”
“But you?”
“I will find Elaina,” he said.
She’s dead, Jaimin. Are you willing to live out your life alone? she asked in her mind, and then she quickly apologized: “I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”
“I have to believe I can find her,” Jaimin said.
Nastasha shook her head. “My thoughts are so wrong! Selfish. Awful.”
“Be yourself,” Jaimin said. “Nothing you think is wrong.”
Nastasha squeezed her eyes closed, and thought to herself: I still love you, Jaimin. With all my heart and soul—without question. It’s not fair to you, to Elaina, to Mascarin… It’s just plain not fair.
“I’ll never deny the love you and I share,” Jaimin replied. “Elaina understood that, and ac
cepted it.”
Nastasha opened her eyes and let go of a few tears.
He continued: “But there are other loves in our lives now—don’t be afraid to find pleasure in other places. I know he pleases you.”
She winced, embarrassed. She knew that Jaimin, her true love, had been there during her most intimate moments with Mascarin, when she dared to give in to what her body wanted. If Jaimin had been in the back of her mind throughout those sweaty, heady times, especially last time in the utter darkness, how much of the pleasure had been her fantasizing about Jaimin? What did she really feel toward Mascarin? Would she ever experience anything or anyone again without Jaimin having a role?
It was all too much for her to think about after such a challenging day.
And so she took a few deep breaths and focused on what she knew—what was tangible: the fact that within her two lives had begun. “My children,” she said to Jaimin, “do you think you can see them?”
“I can try,” he said.
She took his hand and led it up underneath her nightgown, resting it on her belly. Jaimin entered Nastasha as a mender, his hand glowing faintly blue under the light layers of her clothing. It took some searching, but he was able to find the two miniscule bundles of cells implanted in her uterine wall. The embryos looked fine. He was awestruck at the thought that these two specks would come to have names, to love, to laugh, and to make an impact on his world.
He took some time to examine the rest of her body, to see if anything else needed fixing. By the time he was done, he knew by her brain rhythm that she had fallen asleep. A few minor repairs here and there, and he was quite worn out too.
For the next eight hours, Nastasha and Jaimin slept, escaping from the world of death and worry, and renewing their bodies and souls for the challenges ahead.
Alessa’s childhood room had been re-occupied by an officer’s family after the war, but Makias’ old room was still furnished the way he had left it. Although Alessa’s room was the cleaner one, she chose to stay the night with Makias in his.
Before going to sleep, they turned out the lamps and opened the shutters to let the night air of their homeland in. Alessa returned to bed and sat up against the headboard. Makias lay in her lap as she stroked his head. His thoughts were on the brother he had lost.
“I wish Talos were able to see Celmarea again,” Makias said. “At least his children will. And Triona—she’s a strong woman, and she’ll need to be. We’ll bring them here, and take care of them.”
“I wish we could pretend we never left,” Alessa asked. “Do you think life here will ever return to the way we remember it?”
“Yes,” Makias said. “I could say: ‘No, things will never be the same again, we’ve lost too much,’ but I won’t. This disaster, this exile, will be remembered as a dark time in our history, but it doesn’t need to be the end of our civilization. There are enough of us alive to start again.”
In that moment, Alessa realized how critical Makias was to the survival of their people. Yes, there were others who could maintain the traditions, but the fire in Makias’ heart for Celmarea was unique. She realized that Makias had to be protected at all costs, not just because he was to be her husband, but because he carried the brightest shard of the soul of the Celmarean people. That shard needed to stay on this side of the Kel-sei archway, not the other.
They closed the shutters for safety and settled into bed together, with their warm bodies close. They knew that by working together in the past days they had broken down whatever walls had formed by their being apart for so many years. It had been just a matter of getting used to each other again, and letting go of the fears and pressures of the single life.
Nastasha awoke before Jaimin in the magical hour before dawn. As she watched him sleep, she allowed herself to get carried away in a fantasy in which Jaimin was her husband, and pleasure was the order of the morning. When her imaginings got too intense, she shut them off and slipped out of the bed to clear her head.
Noticing that the bedchamber had a balcony, she quietly undid the ornate clasps that held the shutters closed and stepped out into the morning air. Cool air rushed up under her nightgown and around her legs. She leaned on the rail and looked out over the still-sleeping city.
The palace was not far from the edge of the forest, which resounded at this hour with a cacophony of bird calls. Although there was plenty in the city to look at, Nastasha’s attention kept returning to the forest.
She felt that something in there—a presence—was calling to her. Not the birds, nor the mammals, nor the insects, nor the trees… Perhaps something else walking among them?
She was tempted to venture downstairs to explore the woods, until she realized how horrible an idea this was with assassins about.
In fact, she thought, she shouldn’t even be standing on the balcony. She stepped back into the room and secured the shutters.
Even with the shutters closed, she could still feel something out there, tugging at her soul. It scared her and intrigued her at the same time. If what Makias had said were true—if only fear prevented her from seeing a wider world, she would just need to be brave. She had proven her bravery when it came to things she could see and explain—now she would need to find the courage to face the unseen.
What are you? she called in her mind. Who are you?
Just then, Jaimin rolled in his sleep, and she saw that he was no longer under the covers. She quietly stepped back toward the bed, drew the blankets back over Jaimin, and, for a while longer, watched him sleep.
The sun began to rise, and the magical hour waned, and along with it the sense that something was calling to her.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Across the sea, in the grey light of dawn, Eleonora lay in her bed, hoping that today would be better than yesterday.
Yesterday, she, her father, and their generals had spent hours drawing up detailed plans for an assault on the baby mill and the back lines of the purple army, but neither the plans, nor the officers carrying them, had survived the short trip from the palace to the army’s central command post.
Following that bad news came word that Destaurians were battling each other in the streets. A resistance movement was coalescing in the city: hundreds of soldiers and civilians were waving black flags or tying black fabric around their arms, symbolizing their distrust of Radovan. A few rogue commanders were leading the revolt, calling for the military to take charge until the mysterious behavior of the royal family was fully explained.
Of course they’re confused, Eleonora had thought to herself. They saw me marching against my father’s guards, and then they saw him dead, and then they saw me dead, but here we are now. What are they expected to think?
At one point in the afternoon, in her frustration, Eleonora had tried to march out to the palace gates to appeal to the people, but her guards had stopped her. As soon as she had conceded and returned to her father’s side, everyone heard the dull booms of explosions at the gates.
Fortunately, the attackers were quickly subdued and arrested.
Now, it was a new day. Eleonora breathed in and out slowly and deeply, building up the strength to face whatever awaited her when she left her chambers.
Up in Arra, Queen Alethea had been busy convincing the Celmareans to return to the castle’s safe areas, after the death of Makias’ brother, Talos. Getting the Celmareans to comply with an order was never an easy task, because while they were expected to follow the commands of the princess council, Celmareans sometimes received contradictory guidance from the divine spirit, in which case the divine spirit’s will had to prevail.
The queen offered Arra’s civilians shelter and protection in either the bowels of the castle or the fortified outposts, accepting the risk that there might be assassins in disguise among them.
Meanwhile, the purple army had retreated into the shadows to regroup, after incurring more losses than were anticipated in the initial battles. They were patient, though, and exceptional at hiding. T
hey were everywhere, and they were nowhere.
Errol had to admit to himself that so far the purple army hadn’t performed as well as he had hoped, and he was impressed by how resourceful and resilient his foes were proving to be. But he was also confident that he would win in the end.
He would live his dream of empire, because he would be patient and persistent, like his young soldiers.
Errol would gather his most trusted advisors that morning, to help him assess whether the purple army still had the strength for a full-on assault on Arra’s capital, or whether they would have to be content with whittling down the allies’ forces little by little.
Nastasha was gone when Jaimin awoke. She had returned to her room before too many people were up, thinking Mascarin might come to call on her before breakfast. She certainly didn’t want to deal with anyone’s questions about where she’d spent the night.
Someone did come to call on Nastasha: a soldier, ready to escort her to breakfast. She made him wait until she finished brushing her hair, which was becoming increasingly untamed with no servants assigned to attend to it.
When Nastasha arrived at the breakfast table, Mascarin, now a guest rather than the cook, stood to greet her. She gave him a quick hug and sat down beside him.
“Good morning,” he said to her quietly. “Is everything well?”
“Yes, yes,” she said. “How did you sleep?”
“Better than I have in a long time,” Mascarin said. “I was tempted to visit you.”
“Best that you didn’t. We both needed the rest.”
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