Ally of the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  She swept them up and poured them back into the bag, then tucked the bag under her pillow. Her half-formed plan came back to her, and she examined it as she lay in her bed, staring at the canopy. It really was only half a plan, which struck her as a flaw, especially considering that the missing half depended on other people’s reactions. That wasn’t something she could control. But it wouldn’t leave her alone.

  Finally, she closed her eyes and reviewed Veriboldan land use law until she fell asleep, then dreamed of the Jaoine Stones falling endlessly through Gizane’s fingers until they turned into rainfall. She woke to the sound of rain on the windows. To her muddled, sleep-fogged brain, it seemed an omen of triumph over her enemy, and she rolled over and drifted into dreamless slumber.

  37

  Taking an early nap left her even more restless and unable to sleep when night fell. So she was awake when Sebastian returned from the challenge of charisma. One look at his face told her everything she didn’t want to know. “Damn it,” she said.

  “I don’t know how close the voting was,” Sebastian said. “They didn’t reveal the numbers. Just announced whose cause had won.” He sank onto the bed beside her and pinched the bridge of his nose as if his head hurt. “We don’t know who won the challenge of knowledge. We know Gizane lost the challenge of wisdom. But she’s won the last two challenges. She could very well be the front runner.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  Sebastian didn’t look at her. “Sebastian, what’s wrong?”

  Sebastian’s hand lowered, and he gripped the counterpane as if clinging to a cliff’s edge. “I think it’s time to consider drastic measures,” he said. “Holt can’t get into the Temple. But he can get into Gizane’s quarters.”

  It took Fiona a moment to realize what he was saying. “No,” she said. “Holt can’t kill her.”

  “Actually, he can,” Sebastian said. “I don’t know the details, and I would never ask him, but I know he’s taken lives.”

  “But—what if he’s caught? It would mean his death!”

  “He won’t get caught.”

  Sebastian still wasn’t looking at her. In the dim light of the room, his profile was fuzzy, the profile of an ancient king on a coin too worn to be clear. Fiona examined him closely. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Sebastian shifted, making the silk of his robe rustle. He looked down at where his hand twisted the counterpane and relaxed his grip. “Holt…wasn’t a good man, before,” he said. “I know he’s spent the last twenty-odd years atoning for the things he’s done. He’ll kill Gizane if I ask him to. But I don’t know who he’d be afterward.”

  Fiona let out the breath she’d been holding. “Then you really can’t ask it of him. You’d destroy him. Sebastian, he’s your friend. You can’t do this.”

  “And if the alternative is destruction for Tremontane? What is one man’s life compared to that?”

  “One man’s—” Fiona sat forward and grabbed Sebastian’s knee. “Don’t think like that. That’s how your mother thinks. You’re not her.”

  Sebastian’s head came up, and he finally faced her, fury distorting his features. “Am I not? When I think of everything I’ve done to protect my damned brother, every compromise I’ve made, all I can see is how much in her image I’ve made myself. And now Holt—he’s like a brother, and here I am proposing to ask him to destroy himself. Fiona, I’ve never loathed myself more.”

  Fiona put her arms around him and held him close. “You know what you have to do,” she whispered. “Tremontane will survive Gizane’s Election. You won’t survive sacrificing Holt.”

  Tentatively, Sebastian returned her embrace. “Thank you,” he whispered back. “You see so clearly. I…thank you.”

  Fiona nodded. He smelled so good, that piney scent she remembered from the near-disaster in his bedroom. She tucked her head into his shoulder and breathed him in, taking comfort in the feel of his strong arms around her. She’d been dying the last time he’d held her, and hadn’t been able to appreciate it, but now holding him felt like coming home after a long, terrible absence. She didn’t want to let go. But anything else would be cruel.

  She released him and scooted back to sit against her pillows. Sebastian watched her go and said nothing, merely stood and straightened his robe.

  “The challenge of faith begins at nine o’clock tomorrow morning,” he said. “We’re meant to arrive an hour before that. Will you be ready?”

  “I will,” Fiona said.

  She woke early, disturbed by dreams she couldn’t remember, and then couldn’t fall back asleep. So she rose and dressed herself in the clothes Georgette had laid out for her, a white bodysuit and voluminous white over-robe with wide sleeves. The gauzy, billowing robe felt like being at the center of a warm, dry cloud, and Fiona had to practice walking in it, keeping it from dragging on the floor. When she felt comfortable, she sat in the armchair and propped her feet on the low table. Georgette hadn’t laid out shoes, making Fiona wonder if barefoot was the order of the day. Since the challenge of faith was held in the Irantzen Temple itself, that might be possible.

  She looked at her bed, at the pillows in disarray, and rose from her seat. The little velvet bag containing the Jaoine Stones fit neatly within one of the huge sleeves as if they’d been designed for carrying such things. Fiona returned to her seat and adjusted the robe so the Stones wouldn’t fall out. Once they were in the Temple, she might be able to find a place to leave them. Or—she smiled wickedly—find a way to plant them on Gizane, then denounce her spectacularly to the observers. It was unlikely, but the thought warmed her.

  She sat, going over fragments of plans, until Georgette arrived with breakfast. She ate rapidly, but not too rapidly, still conscious of the fragility of her stomach. When Sebastian knocked on her door, she was ready to go.

  Sebastian wore a bodysuit and robe matching hers. On him, the combination was exquisitely masculine, though some of that might have been how he carried himself like a prince no matter what he wore. She could barely imagine what it would be like to have that kind of confidence.

  He didn’t offer her his arm, which made her heart ache. Only a few more days, and they would never see each other again. The thought swept away all her worry over the Election. Never again. It was so monstrously unfair she wanted to shout at an uncaring heaven. Even accidentally stealing the Jaoine Stones couldn’t possibly be deserving of this punishment. She pushed those thoughts aside. She’d made her choice, and she was done dwelling on what she couldn’t have.

  It turned out they were, in fact, meant to go barefoot, and Fiona couldn’t help remembering their mad midnight flight from the Temple as they trod the path leading to it. The rough concrete rasped against her feet, bringing back more memories. She’d followed this road before, but this was the first time she’d done so sedately and not hurrying to reach the Temple before its doors shut.

  She looked out over the Kepa, which was a dull slate-gray today thanks to the overcast sky. For all they’d spent so much time there, the Jaixante still remained foreign territory. But the east bank of the Kepa, with its myriad small buildings and their tiled roofs, drew her eye and comforted her. Haizea was a lovely city, maybe not as lovely as Aurilien in winter, but for the first time Fiona considered making a home here. Maybe she wouldn’t leave when Sebastian did. The thought of him leaving her behind sent another involuntary pang through her.

  The Temple doors stood well open, but Fiona and Sebastian were the only ones on the road. Fiona felt a moment’s fear that they’d missed the time, that they were late and that would someone guarantee Gizane’s victory, but the priestesses at the doors nodded to them with no word of rebuke.

  Within, another group of priestesses stood. They wore the same simple garb all the priestesses did, but in rose or pale gold instead of white. One of them took a torch off the wall and gestured to Fiona and Sebastian to follow.

  She took them by a different path than the one Fiona remembered from the festiva
l, one with a high, arched ceiling and cool marble floors. The torchlight flickered over the walls and ceiling, giving Fiona the impression of an ancient cave hollowed out by a very tidy river. Ahead, a bluish light gleamed, and shortly they emerged from the cave into a circular chamber that could never be mistaken for anything but manmade.

  The domed ceiling was held up by arched ribs of ebony, which stood in contrast to the blue-white walls that gave the light its peculiar tint. Narrow glass windows between the ribs let in that light. The glass was thin and perfect and not thick and bubbly like the glass Fiona was familiar with. The creosote smell of the torches was fainter, diffused through the great space, and mingled with an unfamiliar bitter smell whose source Fiona couldn’t see. It was alien, and beautiful, and Fiona hoped they used this chamber for more than just the challenge of faith, because what a waste if people only came here once every seven years.

  At the center of the room stood a pedestal of the same white marble as the floor, carved with abstract designs. A marble basin rested atop the pedestal, not circular, but square. It reminded Fiona of a handkerchief someone had put a heavy stone into, making the corners point up and the center sag. She wanted to investigate it, but its alien appearance made her reluctant to approach. No Tremontanan bethel had anything like it, but she was certain it was an altar to ungoverned heaven.

  A handful of Veriboldan landholders, all of them dressed in white bodysuits and over-robes like Fiona and Sebastian, stood scattered through the chamber. No one spoke; the room, majestic and overwhelming, made everything Fiona might have said seem frivolous, and she wondered if even the Veriboldans felt that way. She took a few steps away from Sebastian to examine the nearest window more closely. She saw a sliver of the Jaixante through it, too narrow a slice to identify the building, though with the Jaixante’s buildings being as uniform as they were, she probably couldn’t have identified it anyway.

  When she turned back around, more people had entered, among them the rest of the foreign envoys. Morten looked as cranky as always, and Venelda wore the serenity that concealed her disdain for her husband. The Dekerians smiled and nodded in Fiona’s direction, and she nodded and smiled back. Stannin looked about him with undisguised delight. It was hard not to imagine him an oversized puppy, though wouldn’t it be funny if he was actually a genius in his own land!

  The room was filling up, though Fiona noticed the Veriboldans gave the foreigners even more space than they did each other. She and Sebastian ended up some fifteen feet from the altar, with no one standing between them and it. Fiona couldn’t help feeling she’d gotten front-row seats to some performance, though she felt a little guilty at the frivolous thought. This was Veribold’s most sacred ritual, and it deserved her respect.

  The crowd near the door stirred, then parted for a double file of Irantzen priestesses, clad in their simple white wrap-around shirts and trousers. Their bare feet made no noise on the marble floor. They circled the altar, taking up positions at regular intervals around it, bowed their heads, and were still. At the end of the row walked Hien, who didn’t join the others in the circle, but stood about five feet away from the little group and on the side opposite the door. She was close enough for Fiona to tug on her shirt, if Fiona had wanted to disrupt the challenge.

  Fiona tucked her hands into her sleeves and fingered the soft velvet bag. She hadn’t seen any opportunity to conceal the Stones, and no other plan had presented itself. Her heart beat a little too fast, and her palms were sweaty. Hien hadn’t looked at her, but she felt certain the woman was as aware of her presence as she was of Hien’s.

  Hien tilted her head back and said, in a voice that echoed off the ceiling, “You who would be One among Many, approach.”

  Fiona murmured the translation for Sebastian. He gripped her upper arm, but said nothing. What was Hien’s plan? Soon she would have to bring out the Stones, which she didn’t have, and then…what next?

  The crowd again parted, and the candidates appeared. Unlike the opening ceremony, where they had walked side by side, they now walked in a line: Gizane first, with Bixhor following her, then Alazne, and finally Luken. Fiona was sure it represented the candidates’ rankings, and her heart beat even faster. No Stones, Gizane the clear winner…this was a disaster of epic proportions.

  “Haran received the vision of the tree, which led her to ungoverned heaven,” Hien declared. “Her faith made it so. Faith means hope in what is not seen, but is so. Faith brings us closer to heaven and to one another.”

  Fiona twitched. Hien had glanced her way, just for a moment, nothing anyone but herself saw. “Each candidate will prove his or her faith on the Jaoine Stones, and heaven will judge that faith.”

  Hien fell silent. The silence stretched into an uncomfortable stillness. Fiona noticed Sela, who stood nearly opposite Fiona, glance Hien’s way as if waiting for her to do something. Hien’s head was held high, and her eyes were closed. Fiona’s chest hurt and her breath came in ragged gasps. She only had half a plan. But it was more than anyone else had.

  She stepped away from Sebastian and walked toward Hien, dipping into her sleeve. “I have something that belongs to you,” she said, and as Hien turned toward her, she dropped the Jaoine Stones into Hien’s outstretched hand.

  38

  Gasps broke the stillness, and a murmur went up as those who were near the back of the room nudged their neighbors, asking what had happened. Fiona had time to realize Hien had anticipated her before Sela said, “The foreigner has the Jaoine Stones! She must die!”

  “Fiona, what have you done?” Sebastian exclaimed, grabbing her arm and trying to pull her away. Fiona held her ground. She and Hien stared at each other as if they were the only ones in the room. Hien’s face was expressionless. Fiona felt strangely calm. She’d faced death once this week; maybe that made it less terrifying.

  “Listen to me!” she shouted. The din quieted, though not by much. She pressed on regardless. “I took the Jaoine Stones from the possession of Gizane of the Araton. She stole the Stones to give herself an advantage in the Election. She is the one you should punish, not I.”

  “Fiona—” Sebastian said, in a voice that promised an eruption if she didn’t explain herself.

  “I told them Gizane is the thief and they should punish her,” she said quickly.

  “That’s not going to matter to them!”

  “Lady North has no proof of her accusations,” Gizane said. Her cruel smile told Fiona she was enjoying this immensely. “Take her into custody before her execution.”

  “I found them in Gizane’s office in the foreign trade building here in the Jaixante,” Fiona said. “You know that place was burgled three weeks ago. You also know no one approached the place where the Stones are kept in the Temple during that time. Gizane stole the Stones and hid them in her office. I took them by accident.”

  “She digs herself deeper!” Sela exclaimed. “She confesses to one crime to save herself from the punishment for another.”

  Fiona looked straight into Hien’s eyes. “I claim I did Veribold a service. How could Gizane have affected the Election by stealing the Stones? Consider that, and tell me which of us is the real thief.”

  The murmuring grew. “I told them I’m innocent, or at least more innocent than Gizane,” Fiona told Sebastian.

  “Stop talking,” Sebastian said. “We might still be able to claim diplomatic—”

  “Gizane of the Araton, you claim you did not steal the Stones,” Hien said, her face still expressionless. “Lady Fiona North, you claim Gizane took the Stones from the Temple, and you took them from her. By law, it is the possessor of the Stones who must die. That is not Gizane.”

  Fiona held her breath. She felt certain Hien had something else in mind than presiding over Fiona’s execution.

  “But heaven cares more for justice than for law,” Hien continued. “This is the challenge of faith. Let us make a test of faith, and allow heaven to decide where guilt lies.” She snapped her fingers, and two of the pries
tesses came to her side. Hien murmured to them, and they left the room.

  Fiona whispered the translation to Sebastian. “What does that mean?” he asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  “We need to leave. I’m not going to abandon you to whatever crazy notion of justice the Irantzen priestesses have.”

  Fiona grabbed his arm. “We’d never make it out the door. I have to see this through, Sebastian.”

  Sebastian grimaced, but eyed the door and the Veriboldans standing in front of it as if assessing his chances and not liking his conclusions. “I won’t let them kill you.”

  Fiona touched his hand. “Do you know,” she said, “I have the strangest feeling it won’t come to that.”

  The priestesses returned. One of them carried an armful of the torches, all unlit. The other held a vase in a way that suggested it was full of liquid. They walked through the circle to the altar. The first priestess arranged the torches on the basin into a neat stack shaped like a pyramid. When she was finished, the second priestess poured the clear contents of the vase over the pyramid of wood, drenching it with a pungent substance that was definitely not water.

  Hien watched this dispassionately, then held out her hand toward the second priestess, who handed her a matchlighter. It was a Tremontanan Device, Fiona observed, and that struck her as more ridiculous than anything else that had happened that morning. Hien clicked the matchlighter and held the tiny flame to the base of the pyramid. With a whoomph, the pyramid went up in blue-white flame, hot enough that it made Fiona take a step back in surprise.