by Rae Carson
“I don’t trust her to be a true ally,” I admit. “Not after what she did to you. I’m going to ask Nicandro to make sure she doesn’t interfere.”
“But you still love her.”
I reach over and squeeze his hand.
Nicandro returns alone with fresh bread, a round of cheese, cold wine, and honey coconut scones. The scones are a day old, but I’m so delighted he remembered my favorite pastry that I don’t mind.
I screw up my courage and tell him that Ximena must be kept away. “As you wish, Majesty,” he says. “But I think you underestimate her.”
He turns to go, but I grab his sleeve. “Father. There is something else.”
Something in my face causes him to lead me a few paces away, out of the hearing range of everyone else. “What is it, Elisa?”
“My Godstone. It . . .”
“I have not sensed it since you returned.”
“It fell out.”
His eyes grow wide as I tell him about rescuing the fledgling oasis. “You did it,” he breathes. “You completed your act of service.”
“But what does it mean?”
He seems vaguely stunned. “I don’t know. We might never know.”
“Surely you have a theory? Many of your peers would scour the scriptures looking for something even tangentially related to what has happened to me. They would create an entire doctrine out of whatever they found. Declare it a fulfilled prophecy, maybe. And then they would believe it unto death.”
My words are too sharp, too angry, and I’m about to apologize when the priest says, “It is human nature to concoct explanations to fill the great void of the unknown.”
I frown. “Isn’t that what we do whenever we ascribe something to God?” That’s what Ximena always did. “The mind of God is a mystery and none can understand it,” she would say. It felt like she was brushing off my questions.
Father Nicandro’s face turns thoughtful. “I suppose so. Take, for instance, your Godstone. The animagi are born with theirs. But when did you get yours?”
“On my naming day. It appeared as if by magic.”
Nicandro nods. “And so it is with all bearers, once every hundred years. You see, dear girl, the animagi’s Godstones are natural. But yours? Yours is divine.”
“You have just ascribed that which you do not understand to God.”
He grins. “And I will continue to do so. Until I have a better explanation.” He gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Never stop asking questions, Majesty. God honors truth seekers.”
On impulse, I wrap him in a hug. He and Hector were my first true friends in Brisadulce, and I’ll never forget it. “Thank you, Father.”
He pats my back, then disengages. “Try to get some rest.”
Nicandro lights a few candles for us, then retires for the night. I pace for hours, thinking about prophecy and God and Godstones, wondering how it’s possible for me to wish Ximena far, far away—but at the same time wish she were here to soothe my worries with a hug and an “Everything’s going to be fine, my sky.”
The next morning, our backs and necks ache from lying on the stone floor of the monastery dining room. Nicandro escorts us as we wind our way into the Wallows, the most dangerous district of my city. It’s impossible to distinguish one building from another here. They are a continuous, twisting structure of rundown adobe patched with driftwood and palm thatch. The streets are narrow and crooked, the paver stone buckled—or removed completely for building material. Dirty, barefooted children scamper through the crowd, brushing against everyone they pass, making me grateful for my scratchy robe’s lack of pockets. Everything smells of sewer.
We make a show of handing out bread and coins and are almost mobbed before Nicandro holds up his hands and yells, “No more left! We’ll be back next week!” The crowd melts away.
He hurries us through a warren of merchant stalls—mostly fish and useless sea scavenge—and into a narrow alley. We come to a door that is warped and dry from heat and salt, its hinges and lock mottled with rust. He looks around to make sure we are not being watched; then he pulls out a key and unlocks the door. I wince as it squeals open. We step into cool darkness.
“I must return to the monastery,” he says. “Someone needs to answer questions about the strange party from Amalur that arrived here. In the next room, there’s a trapdoor. The stair will lead to the underground village.”
I reach out and take his hands. “Thank you, Father.”
“God be with you, dear girl. When it begins, I’ll help however I can.”
I search for words to tell him how much it means to have him as a friend and ally, ever since that night, more than a year ago, when he welcomed a frightened princess into his sacred archive and told her the truth. But he is gone before I can bring it to my lips.
For once we have a quick, easy journey. The stair is long and steep, and it dumps us into a small clay hut with an earthen floor. We peer warily through the doorway into cavern gloom, interrupted with the occasional stream of sunlight.
The underground village is just as I remember it—the ceiling crevices filled with sunshine and lush plants, hanging vines that almost brush the tops of the huts, the wide river curving around the far wall before plunging into a tunnel that leads to the sea. But this time, instead of just poor villagers hiding from guild taxes, the cavern is also filled with my own Royal Guard. Some sit sharpening blades and oiling armor. Others practice with wooden swords in a cleared space near the river. Still others nap or cook or help the villagers mend nets.
They do everything quietly. No one speaks above a whisper.
When I left, my Guard was depleted by the war to only thirty-one strong. But I see lots of unfamiliar faces, enough to fill a full garrison of sixty. Maybe more. They practice with everyone else, seemingly fully integrated.
I sent a Godstone to Captain Lucio with orders to trade it on the black market and use the funds to rebuild my Guard, but his achievement has exceeded my expectation, and my chest swells with wondrous, bubbling hope.
Two guards stand at attention outside the clay hut, and they step forward to block our path, swords drawn. Hector is the first to remove his hood, and they gasp.
“It’s the commander!” one yells, and the other shushes him. He winces. “Sorry.” But his declaration has grabbed the attention of every person in the cavern. And when I remove my own hood, an even deeper silence descends on the place.
Then all of a sudden we are swarmed with soldiers wearing brilliant smiles, whispering exclamations of welcome, patting us on the back and hugging indiscriminately.
The villagers latch on to Storm. They clutch the edge of his robe to their cheeks as if it confers some kind of blessing. Murmurs of “Lo Chato!” and “He has returned!” echo throughout the cavern. Storm takes it in with monstrous indifference, his head high, his gaze full of exquisite boredom. He must be enjoying every second.
“Back,” Hector orders when I’m jostled one too many times. “Give Her Majesty some space.”
The guards collect themselves, looking around at one another shame-faced, and as one they drop to their knees.
I gaze out over the small sea of bowed heads, breathing deep of the moment, savoring it. My Guard. My people. My power. “It’s good to be home,” I say. “And I am so very glad to see you all.” I open my mouth to say something else, but a small figure darts out from one of the huts.
“Elisa?” Rosario launches at me, wrapping skinny arms around my neck. The guards titter with amusement as I hug my little prince tight. “I told them you would come back,” he says. “I told them.”
I swallow the sudden lump in my throat. “You told them right.”
He squirms out of my arms and launches at Hector next, who hugs the boy just as fiercely. “I’m in hiding,” Rosario tells him gravely.
“And doing a good job of it, I see,” Hector answers with equal gravity.
Rosario spots Red and cocks his head. “I’m seven,” he announces. “How
old are you?”
Red just shrugs, avoiding his gaze.
“You’re almost as big as me. Are you six?”
“I don’t think so,” she says witheringly.
I raise an eyebrow at Mara, who takes my cue and rounds up the prince and the girl. “Let’s go inside and get acquainted, shall we?” she says, and I mouth a “Thank you!” at her. When this is all over, I’m going to spend lots of time with the boy. Playing cards, practicing with wooden daggers, maybe even going riding. Whatever he wants.
I return my attention to my Guard, and find Captain Lucio off to the side. “Captain, how do you find the Guard? Are they battle ready?”
“At a moment’s notice, Your Majesty.”
I expected nothing less. “I see a lot of new faces among you. Know that you are most welcome. If Lord-Commander Hector deems you ready, I would accept your oaths tonight.”
This is met by a flurry of excited whispers. Being oath sworn to the queen is a wonderful thing for some; it means three meals a day and a monthly stipend.
I spot Fernando in the crowd and resist the urge to single him out by waving. Beside him is young Benito, a boy I brought back with me from the desert to train with the Royal Guard. He is too young still, but Lucio must have promoted him to full Guard anyway.
And then, to my absolute delight, I notice Conde Tristán, kneeling alongside the rest of the guard, surrounded by men in the ivory and sky blue of Selvarica. Our eyes meet, and he smiles broadly. I know that his presence here means things have not gone well for him, but I’m glad to see him still.
I would love to spend time catching up with everyone. I’d love a long nap and days’ worth of hot meals. And dear God, I’m desperate for a bath. But it won’t be long before the general figures out I’m here; Father Nicandro can’t keep the truth of his visiting “pilgrims” a secret for more than a day or two.
We must act now. Tonight.
With a deep breath and a raised chin, I address my Guard. “The fate of Joya d’Arena and the world stands on a knife’s edge, so pay attention. Conde Eduardo’s adviser Franco, the man who tried to assassinate me and who kidnapped Lord-Commander Hector, is dead at the commander’s own hand.” A few soft cheers greet this announcement. “We crossed the border into Invierne and learned much about our ancient enemy. Then we journeyed to Basajuan, where I met with Their Majesties Queen Alodia and Queen Cosmé. To make a very long story short, I will just say that they swore fealty to me and to Joya d’Arena. You are now an Imperial Guard.”
They gape at me.
“We then leveraged our newfound accord to bargain for peace with Invierne.” I have an awkward moment where I pull the robe over my head just so I can reach my pants. I toss the robe aside and retrieve a roll of parchment from my pocket to wave at them. “This is a peace treaty, signed by me and members of Invierne’s ruling council.”
More gasping.
“I share this with you so you know what is at stake. The treaty can only remain effective if I am in power.” I pause to consider my next words carefully. “But this is not about me. Our actions will not be remembered because of which blundering, disposable ruler we put on the throne. They will be remembered because they turned the hinge of history and determined whether or not the world would have peace.”
I give them a moment to consider, to absorb.
Then: “Are you ready? Will you do battle on behalf of the world tonight?”
We are in hiding, so I do not expect a cheering assent or even an “All hail!” But someone draws his sword, slaps it against his thigh. Others follow. Soon the cavern is filled with the low, steady slap, slap, slap! of nearly a hundred soldiers ready to lay down their lives.
We are a small force stacked against incredible odds. I must use them to strike fast, hard, and smart. But this is what I do. This is my power.
I smile wickedly, and when their slapping has faded to silence, I speak.
“I have a plan.”
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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39
I’M sliding daggers into the legs of my boots when I feel a presence looming over me, and I know it’s Hector even before I look up.
He stares down at me, his heart in his eyes. “God, Elisa, do you have any idea how dangerous this is?”
I straighten to face him. “Not as dangerous as waiting for Eduardo to strengthen his foothold and then engaging in an all-out war that sets friend against friend, brother against brother.”
“I mean dangerous for you.”
“I know what you mean.”
A muscle in his jaw twitches. He opens his mouth but changes his mind. Then he turns and strides away.
I ache to call him back. Instead, I bend back to my daggers, mentally going over the plan to make sure I haven’t forgotten something important.
Conde Tristán and the Selvaricans will dress as peasants and attend evening services at the monastery. Afterward, when all the petitioners are exiting the audience hall, they will mill about the courtyard with everyone else, gradually moving into place. Tristán will give the signal, and they will strike fast to take the gate. Then they’ll create a distraction, drawing as many city guards as possible, and when approximately half of them have rushed the courtyard, he will drop the gate, dividing their forces. Then Fernando and Mara will pick them apart from the ramparts.
They’ve exchanged their uniforms for the civilian garb of the villagers, donning ragged pants and patched blouses, rope for belts. They can’t hide swords beneath their clothing, but Tristán has assured me that daggers will do at first, that they will be able to arm themselves with the swords of fallen soldiers. I’ve watched him fight. With the arguable exception of Hector, he’s the most terrifying bladesman I’ve ever seen.
Fernando and Mara will don priests’ robes ample enough to hide their bows. Red and a few of the village children are tasked with delivering quivers full of arrows to the palace, ostensibly for the palace garrison that mans the gates. Instead, the children will stash them in prearranged caches around the inner courtyard, for Mara and Fernando to grab when they can.
Hector will take his most seasoned warriors through the tunnels that lead to the catacombs and into the palace. The entrance to the catacombs is likely guarded by two men. It will be no easy task to silence them before they can raise the alarm. Then Hector’s men must move swiftly to the palace barracks and the prison tower, where General Luz-Manuel and his top aides reside. Hector will take the general alive if possible.
The barracks are among the few palace structures made mostly of wood. Highly flammable wood. Storm will accompany Hector.
Captain Lucio and I will lead our new recruits through the secret egress tunnel to the king’s suite. From there, he’ll lock down the palace residential wing, isolating Conde Eduardo and any other nobles in residence. He also has orders to capture rather than kill whenever possible.
All three insurgencies must happen at once for us to be successful. So Father Nicandro has agreed to sound the monastery bells—which can be heard throughout the city—the moment services let out, as the signal to proceed
I could spend all day imagining ways it could go wrong. Instead, I check and recheck my weapons. Then I spend some time mingling throughout the cavern, offering an encouraging word here and there, thanking the men for risking everything for Joya d’Arena.
A hand grabs my upper arm. “Come with me,” Hector says urgently. “To the barracks.”
I wrench my arm from his grasp.
“I don’t want to let you out of my sight,” he adds.
“You know I can’t,” I say, though I know how he feels. The thought of him going off to battle without me makes my heart shiver with terror. “I’m the only person in all of Joya who outranks Conde Eduardo. I must be there to give official orders. Otherwise any hand raised against him is an act of sedition.”
He steps close
r until we are almost touching. “Then let me come with you.”
“I need my best fighters to engage the general’s men.”
His voice drops low. “If this doesn’t work, I’ll come find you. We’ll go away together, like—”
I wrap my arms around his neck and press my body against his, kissing him as thoroughly as I ever have. He crushes me to him, kissing back with a desperate finality.
Hector’s men cheer softly all around us, and we separate, both of us wearing shamefaced grins. “That was for just in case,” I say.
“Promise me you’ll live,” he insists. “Because when this is all over, we must discuss how you sometimes kiss me to shut me up, and how I’ll no longer stand for it.”
I reach up to trace his jaw with my fingers. “I’ll promise to live if you will.”
His lips press into a firm line, and he says nothing.
Tristán declares his men ready, and I step over to wish him and Mara luck. “Just one more tunnel, right?” she says as she adjusts her robe. “And then no more. Ever again.”
“Just one more,” I say, and the tip of her bow jabs me as I hug her tight.
Belén joins us. “Ready?” he says to me, and I nod. “This might be your last chance, Mara,” he says. “Say you’ll marry me.”
“You know I can’t.”
He smiles sadly. “Worth a try.” He leans over and kisses her cheek, then takes my arm and escorts me toward Captain Lucio’s group.
I stare across the cavern toward Hector, shoring myself up with the sight of him.
We lock gazes. The rest of the world fades away, and without saying a word, we say good-bye.
Then he and his men turn toward the tunnel leading to the catacombs, and the rest of us climb the stairs toward the Wallows.
If Blacksmith Mandrano, formerly of King Nicalao’s Royal Guard, is surprised to see us, he does not show it. He ushers us all inside his shop, bars the door, and lifts the trapdoor that leads to the tunnel and the king’s suite in the residence wing.
