“Me?”
“Of course, you.”
Damaris is young yet, so I hate to disillusion her, even though it must be done.
“Damaris, I’ll likely be serving dinner to the dignitaries,” I say. “The Queen will—”
“But it’s the Prince throwing the ball.” Damaris interrupts me with a pout. “He’s already said it is for the Pommierian Empire, and that includes the Colonies. Why wouldn’t you be there? You are their princess.”
“Princess in name only,” I tell her, patting her arm in a comforting way as I grind my teeth together in frustration. “Rion is the Regent of Marula, and Queen Varyes is still the one who has command of the land.”
“That doesn’t mean you aren’t the princess.”
“It does mean I have no power.”
Damaris frowns. “Well, you should talk to him about that. I’m sure he’ll want you there.”
“Maybe.”
I don’t know what to think about that. As Damaris jumps back into her excited monologue, I half-listen to her as she helps me finish polishing the silver. Afterwards, we head down to the kitchen to help with dinner, but I am still consumed with curiosity.
What is Rion up to?
“Denise mentioned that the Prince sent invitations to the Colonist Equality League and the Refugee Return Movement leaders,” Damaris says. “I hope they don’t ruin everything. I actually hope they refuse to come—”
“The Colonist Equality League?” It is my turn to interrupt. “Why would he invite them? The Queen hates them. She’s arrested enough of them that I thought they disbanded.”
Damaris, for once, goes quiet. She beckons me close to her before she whispers in my ear. “They didn’t stop. They’ve only became more secretive.”
Since Rion left, I wasn’t allowed to sit in with the Queen for any meetings, and, more than once, I’d gotten in trouble for asking too many questions about kingdom concerns, Pommierian and Maruli alike. It was strange to feel so removed from so much at times like this.
“Well, I don’t know if they’ll come at all, even if Rion has invited them to come out into the open.”
Damaris lets out a small squeak and shuts her mouth.
“What?” I ask, but I hear the shuffle of expensive skirts and a waft of expensive perfume whisks underneath my nose.
Queen Varyes.
I don’t have to turn around to know it’s her, especially as I see Damaris drop to the ground and place her arms forward in a reverent posture.
“That’s Prince Rion to you, Ebony.” The Queen’s voice is soft and harsh. I do my best to stand tall and brave as I face her.
“Yes, Majesty,” I reply, dropping into a curtsey.
“I have come for you,” Queen Varyes says. She stands there firm and resolute, clearly annoyed, but not openly hostile as she stares down at me. “I have spent the morning talking with my son. As you know, he returned from the Colonies earlier today.”
“Yes, Majesty,” I murmur again, sinking lower into my curtsey.
“He and I have spent several of the last hours discussing the future.”
Damaris lets out a quick snort behind me, before she ducks her head further between her hands on the floor. I have a feeling, from her reaction, that “discussions” was the polite version. It wasn’t the first time the Queen had been known to indulge in loud fights over decorum and kingdom decisions.
“Prince Rion is indeed organizing a ball for our kingdom,” Queen Varyes continues. “And I have come here to tell you ... ”
I hold my breath. Is it possible Rion has already changed his mother’s mind?
“ ... that since the ball is to be held next week, we will need additional servants helping to shovel out the stables. Once you are done with supper, you will work with the stablemaster to begin cleaning out the horse stalls.”
So much for that hope.
“Ebony.” She cocks a brow at me, and I quickly nod.
What else can I do? We both know the answer to that question is next to nothing.
“Yes, Majesty,” I whisper.
“Good. You are lucky to have as good a stepbrother as Rion,” the Queen drawls on. “I’m sure if there’s one person who can make the stables shine in time for his big night, it would be you, Ebony. I will send additional help. The Maruli people are good at such dirty jobs, and there’s less need to wash yourself off afterward, since the mud and waste just blend into your skin.”
Her insults nearly leave me breathless. “How dare you say such a thing!” I finally stammer.
“Would you prefer me to have you arrested for assault against me?” The Queen’s painted lips curl in sadistic satisfaction. “I would be happy to make the arrangements, although Rion would, with his soft heart, be so sad at your absence. He is looking forward to meeting his bride at the ball, and I know he would hate for you to miss it.”
“His bride?” Damaris squeaks out behind me, and I am grateful for her distraction, even as Queen Varyes turns her horrible tongue onto the young girl. Damaris is in tears by the time I’ve composed myself and the Queen dismisses her.
I envy Damaris; for all her pain, she gets to run away.
Queen Varyes clears her throat. “Now that Rion is older, it is time for him to marry. I have called for diplomats from all over the continent to come so I can choose a real princess to be his bride.”
“I am still Princess of Marula,” I say, some of my inner fire still burning strong.
For the first time in years, Queen Varyes laughs. It is a full-bellied, deep-throated laugh, one that causes shivers to tingle down my spine. My own earlier words echo back to me, and I realize I’m not the only one who knows the truth.
“Yes, I know,” the Queen says. “He even suggested I consider you, did you know that?”
“He did?” The words slip free before I realize it would have been better to keep them inside. The apple in my apron pocket bumps against me, as if reminding me all over again of how I’d felt with Rion earlier.
“Yes. I’ve convinced him there’s no need to worry about you any longer. Your country has accepted my son as their future ruler.” The Queen scowls at me. “Your family marrying into mine was nothing but a formality, and we no longer need you.”
Suddenly, she steps forward, stepping right up against me. Before I can react, she reaches down and grabs me by the apron, pulling out the apple Rion had given to me earlier.
She holds it in her hand and glares at me with accusation. I feel the uncomfortable twinge of guilt inside of me.
She knows.
“I won’t tell you again.” The Queen bares her teeth as she looks at the apple, before her fingers tighten, pressing and squeezing into its skin. To my amazement, the apple begins to dissolve in her hand. Smoke wisps puff out from the apple, before it melts into a small puddle of sticky mush.
The core is all that is left, and she thrusts it at me. I cradle it in my hand, my heart crying out as Rion’s gift is destroyed by the Queen’s contempt.
“Stay out of my garden,” she hisses. “You’re young yet, but you will learn that wishes will only poison your heart in the end.”
She flicks the mess off her hands, before she whirls around and walks away.
Just before she turns down another corridor, she looks back over her shoulder at me. “Also, if I were you, Ebony, I would not make an effort to speak to Rion anymore. He is very busy, and I am very eager to see him further the Pommierian Empire. I do not want you getting in my way. If you do, you and your people will be sorry.”
“We are already sorry,” I object. “My father would not agree to this at all.”
“Well, he’s dead now, isn’t he?” Queen Varyes scoffs. “You will not take Rion’s love away from me as you did your father’s.”
Tears flicker across my gaze, but I swallow hard and force myself to remain steady. I would not give her the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
“Once Rion is happily married off, I will be sure to see that you are as well�
��if I don’t sell you to the Mopana slave markets first.” She narrows her eyes at me. “Or perhaps I’ll just imprison you until your debt to me and my country is paid, and then set you free to the merchants here. Maybe you can even earn your coin by singing for dinner?”
She leaves me alone in the hall, and I stand there, stiff and still, for a moment, before I turn and resume my walk to the kitchens.
So much for Rion making things better.
He’d underestimated her, and since she came here to tell me this in person, I am certain she is letting him have the upper hand—for now.
I look down at the core of my apple, watching it continue to rot away from the Queen’s magic.
Carefully, I tuck it into my apron again. I can feel the pain in my chest as I walk slowly toward the stables, but even as my stubborn tears slide free, I begin to hum another song.
For now, I am trapped, cornered into doing the Queen’s bidding. But even if I am trapped, I will not allow her magic to poison my spirit.
*7*
Rion
THE NIGHT IS SWIFTLY approaching as I stare out the high, open windows in the palace hall. There is a distinct chill in the air. Despite my own preference for sunlight, I want the windows left ajar. While I’ve had several complaints from others, I’ve only ordered more fires to be lit.
Through the windows, I can see the clear skies of Pommier, and I can’t stop myself from comparing it to Maruli nights. In Marula, the darkness coaxes even the smallest of stars to shine, but here in Pommier, the blue cuts away at the black and only the brightest stars assert themselves.
After four years, I hate how I find the Pommierian sky lacking in comparison. But here, bare as it is, it provides me with some relief from my alternating boredom and frustration.
It has been a week since I talked with Mother about the ball and began making its arrangements.
It has also been a week since I talked with Ebony. She has been hard to find these last few days, and, even before that, I can’t seem to find a way to be alone with her.
At times like this, when my councilors are sitting down around me, each listing through their questions for me, asking for my decisions, I yearn for her soothing presence.
It would almost be worth it to ask her to come in here and clean the room while I talk with the rest of my men.
There are hundreds of details that need my approval now that I am home from the Colonies, and after the first thirty minutes, I am amazed Pommier is able to run without my presence. When I mentioned this to Mother, she told me I would be King one day, and it was time I started living up to the title.
She is right about this, like she always is—in the most terrible way.
If I am to be king, I need to work on overseeing my kingdom as it is, not just as it will be.
Perhaps that is why it has taken me nearly a week to see the futility, and my mother’s maneuvering, behind this routine. If I hear any more last-minute concerns about the ball tomorrow night, I will dismiss them.
I do want the ball to be perfect—Caryo himself taught me the importance of diplomacy, especially if there is a mutiny coming—but at this point, I am too tempted to fall into the trap of over-planning, and I risk my plan’s perfection by my perfectionism.
I have to make sure that there will be nothing that will stop me from marrying Ebony. If that involves tricking my mother and inviting half the known world’s ambassadors and representatives to the palace under false pretenses, then so be it.
Outside the window, the single star I see twinkles followed by a flare of colored light. As I watch, small bursts of green and orange sparkle against the sky’s darkness.
Ebony has to see them. She has to.
Just as my excitement stirs to life, someone says my name, and I clench my fists.
“Prince Rion, did you hear me?”
My mother’s chief advisor, Enri, is clearly upset at my inattention.
He would be. When he is not here, he is second-in-command, and he is not the kind of person to easily let go of power. In some ways, he makes me think of an uncle, a brotherly figure and kindred spirit to my mother. He is an older man, at home in his rouge-colored makeup and his long, silk-lined robes. For a man with a background in the military, he enjoys his luxuries and the ability to do as he pleases.
Reluctantly, I return my attention to the matters at hand. “What is it? I believe we’ve finished up with all the ball’s preparations for tonight.”
“We have finished, Highness.” Enri is unusually happy at my impatience. “We’ve received a distressing message from the Governor in the Colonies.”
“Caryo is in trouble?” I lean forward. “Why didn’t this come up earlier?”
“The security of the Colonies is secondary to the glory of the Homeland, Sire.”
Enri recites this with the same pretentious tone Mother does, and, after a week of being back in Pommier, his sentiment makes me feel ill as much as tired.
I was young when King Maru married my mother and joined our kingdoms. Over the last decade of our union, the nations’ relations have selectively soured, and I have spent the past week seeing it for myself as I talk with Mother’s advisors and meet with merchants and others from around Pommier.
The Maruli artisans are often meek or angry as I talk with them, scared into silence by the kingdom’s civility forces or embittered toward Pommierians for their plight. The Pommierians vary more in their attitude; some are haughty, enjoying their status and perceived superiority above the Maruli; others are sympathetic but uncertain of how to respond in a practical manner. Some are so well integrated with the Maruli they don’t even see there is trouble in other parts of our empire.
As the days pass, I grow more convinced the ball is the right thing to do; it’s something that everyone can rally around together. Just as in battle there are common fronts, there are common joys in kingdom matters that stir unity between its citizens.
In addition to securing Ebony’s hand in marriage, I hope this will bring the nation together and mark a new era in Pommier-Maruli relations.
That goal is lofty, and I know it. How could I not? The proof is staring at me, in the form of Enri’s smug expression and his bloated girth.
“Colonial matters are handled by the Queen,” Enri further adds, as if to explain himself.
Which means they’re ignored.
It is the perfect way for Enri to cover himself, to use my mother.
“From now on, I’d like to take over this area,” I say, invoking my full authority. “Give me Caryo’s messages.”
Enri hands me the letters, and, while the rest of the table begins to chatter again, I read through them quickly.
Caryo’s handwriting is lovely to see, even if he informs me the Mopana people have been seen importing slaves, many of whom are Maruli.
Because of their war with the Baobabi, Maruli forces aren’t allowed to make aggressive movements against the Mopana. But if they have our people, we need to stop them.
If we try to buy back our citizens, the Mopana will only use that money to fund their war; I have no doubt that’s what they’re doing anyway. If they are not selling the slaves, they are likely conscripting them into service.
We will have to do something. But the question is: what can we do? Between funding a war and starting a war, I’d rather not do either. Ignoring it is not an option though.
I reread the letter, weighing my options.
It takes around two weeks to get from Pommier to Marula by clipper boat, depending on the weather. I have been gone from Marula for just under a month, after spending years honoring my place as their regent. When I’d left Caryo in charge, I’d been certain that, while I was gone, he could handle things.
Is it possible I’ve misjudged his ability? Or perhaps it’s my ability that I’ve misjudged.
Almost at once, I dismiss the concerns about Caryo. Some problems are bigger than individual people.
And as for myself ... this has to be a test of my lead
ership.
I pull out a pen and scroll, trying to order my thoughts so I can write back to Caryo when a door opens up, and a servant comes in bearing tea.
As much as I hope it is Ebony, just for the sake of seeing her, I am glad it’s not her. I am also glad I recognize the face of the girl and her long red hair, even if a moment passes before I remember her name.
“Thank you, Damaris,” I whisper, as she bows and puts her tray down in front of me.
“Th-thank you, my Prince.” Ebony’s friend has a young face, one that blushes bright crimson, all the way up to the roots of her hair.
As the other men glance up at us, I motion to Damaris to pour the tea and prepare my cup. She immediately does so, with fumbling fingers and awkward movements.
“Can you tell me where Ebony is?” I ask, keeping my voice low. “Please?”
“She’s been sent to the stables this week.” Damaris is smart, reaching for the small pot of cream as she whispers back to me. Her eyes go wide as she adds, “The Queen assigned her to clean them out for the ball, Highness.”
There’s a mark of reproach in her tone, and Damaris is right to be displeased. Not only is Ebony’s treatment reprehensible, I should’ve seen to Ebony’s care.
“Thank you.” I dismiss Damaris with a grateful look, sending her around to serve the rest of my men.
I sit forward in my seat, leaning my elbows into the wooden table. Between Caryo and Ebony, I feel like a failure.
My hands fold over each other and my head ducks underneath them. The warmth of the tea Damaris brought me steams upward, tickling my nose as I pray. “Please, Lord,” I whisper. “Help me.”
I need help, too. I can’t stop the pain in the world, at home or aboard, and, as I look up, I only see the Northern Lights twinkle through the windows.
I look down at the scroll before me, and then back up to the sky.
Mother said that there are always two battlefronts we have to face as rulers, but as I stand up and excuse myself, I know there is only one person I want standing next to me in the victor’s circle. Indeed, as I walk out of the room and head toward the stables, there’s only one person who can get me to that victor’s circle in the first place.
Northern Lights, Southern Stars Page 6
