The Girl of Fire and Thorns fat-1 Page 27

  “The Inviernos already know you’re here,” the conde says pleasantly. “I could help you escape.”

  Maybe I should pretend to hear him out, just until I can figure out a way to free the others before I die.

  Another voice cuts in from behind me. “That won’t be necessary.”

  I’m startled enough that the daggers wobble in my hands. I know that voice. Deep and confident. So familiar . . .

  “Is this the mutinous leader you spoke of?” says the voice. I don’t dare release the conde to face this new threat.

  Treviño swallows, the knob in his throat lurching beneath my blades. “Yes.”

  I hear the whisper-slide of a sword pulled from a honing scabbard. This is it, I think. I should kill the conde now before I’ve lost the chance.

  “I’ll take it from here, Your Highness,” says the voice. A sword point lands atop my daggers with a soft plink. A tiny bubble of crimson rises where the blade meets the conde’s fair skin.

  My heart hammers in my throat, my breath comes too fast, but I force my hands to relax, to lower the daggers. Someone is saving me. Someone who called me “Your Highness.”

  I step back, daggers at my side, and turn to my rescuer.

  “Hello, Elisa,” Lord Hector says, and his gaze on Treviño is unrelenting. “I’ve been searching for an excuse to put a sword to His Grace’s throat for years now, so I am in your debt.”

  All the rage and grief and fear flow out of me until my body is limp. I stumble toward Lord Hector, wrap my arms around him.

  “Watch the daggers, Highness,” he says, patting my back awkwardly with his free hand.

  “Why are you doing this?” the conde exclaims. “The girl is a traitor!”

  Lord Hector’s hand has reached my unraveling braid. His fingers pause as they note the drying stickiness there. “Elisa is no traitor,” he says. “In fact, I think His Majesty will be much dismayed to learn you have been keeping his wife captive.”

  Only then does it occur to me to wonder why my husband’s personal guard is here, so far from Brisadulce.

  I want to lock Conde Treviño in his own prison. Lord Hector patiently explains how it would be better to place him under house arrest, confining him to his suite. “Though we act with His Majesty’s authority, we still require the cooperation of Treviño’s people.”

  “We will treat him with respect, then,” Benito adds. The look he turns on Lord Hector glows with hero worship.

  I know they are right. But just before the door closes on the conde’s livid face, I have an almost overwhelming desire to stab him after all. I settle for ripping the ugly amulet from his neck.

  Hector gives me a strange look. “This amulet,” I explain. “It feels familiar. My Godstone heats up every time I look at it.”

  “It’s ugly,” Benito says.

  “Yes. I can’t imagine why our foppish conde chose to wear it.” It’s heavy in my hand, and the four scallops feel rough, unfinished. My blood tingles.

  Lord Hector gives instructions to the guards. Then he takes my arm while Benito falls behind, and I’m reminded of that day long ago when he guided me and Ximena on a tour of my new husband’s palace. “So, Highness, you must tell me exactly how you came to be here,” he insists. “And how you came to be so . . . bold with the conde.” It’s been so long since we’ve talked, and I can’t tell whether or not admiration tinges his voice.

  I hesitate at first, for I don’t care to see my companions punished for kidnapping me. But I’m bereft and exhausted, and I know he’ll learn the truth eventually. So I tell him about the kidnapping, our desert journey, and my discovery that the war had already begun. I explain how I came to trust and respect my companions, how I studied Homer’s Afflatus and formed the Malficio of wounded refugees and orphaned children. His eyes widen when I tell him about my capture by Inviernos. His jaw hangs slack when I describe how I killed the animagus, stole his amulet, climbed the cliff to escape, and used the Godstone to navigate to safety. And when I start to explain our plan to poison Treviño’s traitorous tribute, he stops short in the hallway.

  “That was you?”

  I make a careful study of the floor’s geometric stonework.

  “Elisa?”

  I sigh. “It was. We hoped to force Treviño into marshaling troops. It didn’t work out the way we planned. We were captured. Humb—my friend was killed.” My voice is too flat to fool anyone. I glance up, looking for that sure-burning intelligence I remember. Sure enough, his eyes seem to whirl as he mulls over my words, draws conclusions.

  We start walking again. “Ximena and Nicandro never gave up, you know,” he says gently. It’s kind of him to change the subject, but hearing my nurse’s name makes it hard to hold my tears in check. “They insisted you were alive. Ximena was certain Ariña had something to do with your disappearance.”

  Oh, I have so many questions! I want to hear all about Ximena and Father Nicandro and little Rosario. Even Alejandro. But we have reached the suite where my companions are being held captive. The guards peer at us in suspicion until they notice the crown seal that gathers Hector’s red cloak in folds across his shoulder. They straighten to immediate attention just as the Royal Guard declares, “Release the prisoners by order of His Majesty, King Alejandro de Vega!”

  They scramble all over one another to comply. The door opens. At the sight of Benito and me, the apprehension on the faces of my companions softens into wary hope.

  I make quick introductions. Everyone is perfectly polite in spite of the obvious questions in their eyes, though Cosmé looks ready to escape out the doorway at any moment. She did kidnap me, after all. Hector just smiles at her. “It’s nice to see you again, Cosmé,” he says.

  She wilts with visible relief and mumbles something in response.

  Hector looks around at our dour accommodations, then leans out the doorway. “Find suitable rooms for everyone in the guest wing,” he orders. “I want them located as near to my own suite as possible.” He turns back to us. “Once everyone is settled and refreshed, we will meet. There is much to discuss and plan.”

  Hector escorts me himself. “I already have a room picked out for you,” he says.

  I shrug. After traveling through the desert, any room would serve. “Hector, when we were in the conde’s office, you told him I was Alejandro’s wife.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s not a secret anymore?”

  “The king made an announcement. Once the storm season was over and trade with Orovalle resumed, he had no choice.”

  I ought to feel glad that he is finally acknowledging our marriage. But I feel nothing. I ask in a quiet voice, “And . . . how is he?” It seems proper that a wife should inquire about her husband.

  We stop outside a thick door. Hector looks down at me in sympathy. “He is well, Elisa. Occupied with planning for a war. Worried about you, I’m sure. But he’s well.” He knocks.

  I stare at him, wondering why he’d knock on the door of the room he chose for me.

  He smiles. “She insisted on coming. So certain was she that Ariña and her father had something to do with your disappearance.”

  I am beginning to process his words when the door opens and Ximena peers out.

  My heart is a warm, wet puddle as my nurse gawks at me. Her gray hair has whitened at the temples, her cheeks are more prominent, the lines around her eyes deeper. Fingers fly to her lips as tears spill from her eyes.

  “Oh, Elisa,” she breathes. “Oh, my sky.” She wraps me in her arms and pulls me inside.

  I had forgotten what it was like to be so pampered. It’s an amazing thing to lean back in muscle-penetrating warmth while someone kneads your shoulders, lathers your scalp, caresses your skin with moistening herbs. She towels me off and wraps me in a soft robe before settling me on the edge of the bed to work through my hair.

  I close my eyes, savoring the occasional brushstroke that grazes my neck.

  “Did you get my message?” I ask.

 
“What message?” I feel a tug as she rubs a dab of sunflower oil into the ends of my hair.

  “A few weeks ago, I sent you a note to let you know I was safe.”

  “I left Brisadulce more than a month ago.”

  “Oh.”

  “Those clothes you were wearing,” Ximena says calmly. “They had blood all over them.” She continues to brush steadily.

  I don’t dare open my eyes, and it’s a moment before I can speak. “Yes,” I manage. “Ximena, can I tell you about all of that another time, maybe?”

  “Of course, my sky.” Her strokes are so gentle, drawn out as if she is relishing the feel of my hair in her hands. “You are different,” she says, though her tone holds no accusation.

  Yes. In so many ways. I decide to focus on the obvious. “The desert sucked some of the flesh right off of me.”

  “No.” Her brushing stalls. “I mean, yes. But it’s not that. It’s the way you hold yourself. The way you move.”

  She braids my hair quickly, then dresses me in a soft green gown ordered from the storeroom. It’s a little too big at the waist, a bit snug around the breasts, and chilly compared to my desert robes or my riding leathers. But the look on Ximena’s face when she sees me in it silences any complaint.

  A guard comes to escort me to Lord Hector’s suite. Before I can walk out the door, Ximena grabs me and hugs me tight to her breast. I smile into her hair. “We have all night to catch up. All day tomorrow,” I whisper.

  She releases me and backs away, chin held high. “And I want to hear every detail. While you’re gone, I’ll find more clothes for you.”

  I cast a glance at my pack, discarded against the fireplace. Everything I need is inside: an extra outer robe, a knife, a tinderbox, some underthings. But I suppose I’ll have to be a princess again. “Thank you, Ximena. I’ll see you soon.”

  Hector’s room is only two doors down from mine. My desert companions and several of his own guards are already arrayed on cushions scattered throughout the suite when I arrive. They gape at me as I stand in the doorway, for I’m the only one in court finery. The rest chose newer, cleaner versions of their usual desert costume. Mara’s eyes go blank; Jacián looks down at his lap. I step inside, feeling a pang I’m not sure I understand.

  Hector inclines his head in greeting. “Now that the princess is here, we can begin.”

  I settle on a cushion beside Cosmé before asking, “Lord Hector, could you start by explaining why you are here in Basajaun? I thought the king’s personal guard never left his side.”

  “Not usually. His Majesty ordered the evacuation of Treviño’s holdings soon after you disappeared,” he says, his face grave. “He offered sanctuary behind the walls of Brisadulce to all the hill folk. But the conde refused.”

  “Treviño believed he had bargained for peace,” Cosmé says.

  Hector nods. “So he said in the message we received. Condesa Ariña worked very hard to convince the king her father’s words were true. His Majesty hesitated to act a long time. Finally, other counsel won him over, and he ordered me here to oversee the evacuation firsthand. He had to send a member of the Quorum, someone who had the authority to seize the conde’s holdings if necessary. Ariña and I were the only members available. I arrived just yesterday.”

  “And yesterday, the conde told you he had found a way to leverage for peace, once and for all,” I say.

  “Yes. He said he’d captured the leader of a treasonous rebellion.” A darting smile quirks the edges of his mustache. “Someone the animagi were desperate to acquire. He thought if he offered you to Invierne as a gesture of good faith, they could resume trade and negotiations. Apparently, there was an incident that nullified their earlier agreement. Something about poisoned food stores.”

  My companions glance at one another in discomfort, not understanding the merriment that flickers in Hector’s eyes.

  “A brilliant plan, brilliantly executed,” he finally concedes, nodding in respect. “I think it will work to our advantage after all.”

  “So what next?” Cosmé asks. “I think we should get a message to Alentín and the Malficio and tell—”

  A knock resonates on the door. “Lord Hector!” calls a muffled voice. “It’s Captain Lucio.”

  Concern edges his brow. He strides to the door and flings it open. “Captain?”

  I can’t see past the bulk of Hector’s shoulders, but I hear the captain’s voice loud and clear when he announces, “We’ve just received word, my lord. The army of Invierne marches against Joya d’Arena.”

  PART III

  Chapter 29

  HECTOR asks me to return with him to Brisadulce. My mind is such a jumble, it’s hard to know what’s right. The Malficio need me, I tell myself, even though it’s not true. My people are perfectly capable of continuing on without me. But maybe I need them. I created them. They are mine, wholly separate from my sister or my husband. Something to be proud of. If I leave them, I’m only Elisa again.

  I try to imagine what it would be like to see Alejandro after all this time. If I close my eyes, I remember hair that curled at the nape of his neck, eyes that shone ruddy brown, but I still can’t summon the exact lines of his face to mind. The harder I try, the more my memory of him slips into fog. Different lines materialize then, a specter of swarthy skin and laughing eyes, a strong chin dusted with the beginnings of a beard.

  I don’t cry anymore. I’m too tired. Ximena knows something hurts my heart, but I can’t bring myself to talk about Humberto. Not yet.

  Cosmé is the one who convinces me to go. “If what Belén said was true . . .” She swallows hard and tries again. She grieves for Belén, for what he has become. “If what he said was true, the animagi want your Godstone.” She has her usual control now, face hard, voice flat. “We cannot begin to guess what sorcery they’ll bring to bear with a final, living Godstone in their possession. You must flee this place. Give your husband a chance to defend you.” Her words are strong. They should have passion in them, but she is like iron. Or ice. It occurs to me that she has lost more than I can imagine. I never had parents to lose—my mother died when I was born and my father was always too busy for me—so I can’t begin to understand her pain. Then she lost Belén. Countless friends and relatives. And now her brother.

  Cosmé is right. I know it in a deep place of understanding. Invierne cannot be allowed to possess my Godstone. Neither can they be allowed to discover the amulet I now wear around my neck or the Godstones buried with my potted palm in Brisadulce.

  We leave Cosmé in charge of Basajuan, supported by Jacián and most of Lord Hector’s retainers. She will evacuate as many as she can, then use the conde’s troops to harass Invierne’s northern army from behind as it marches toward the coastal holdings. Carlo will return to the Malficio with news of what has transpired.

  I want a reminder of the life and purpose I created for myself. So Mara agrees to fill the lady-in-waiting position that has been vacant since Aneaxi’s death. Benito also decides to accompany us when Hector promises him a post in the palace guard.

  We leave the next day, early in the morning when dawn’s light is merely grayish. In spite of the hour, everyone comes to the stables to see us off. Walking away from my desert companions feels like cutting off a limb. How does one say good-bye to an arm? One doesn’t, I suppose. One pretends it isn’t happening. I steel myself, make a rock of my heart. My friends seem disappointed that I don’t make more of a fuss. Carlo, in particular, looks at me with such hurt, his eyes liquid and searching. I clasp his hand briefly and turn away.

  Someone grabs me, spins me around. It’s Cosmé. She hugs me then, just long enough to say, “Don’t be so cold, Elisa. Don’t be like me.”

  I stumble back. “But . . . it helps.”

  She shakes her head. “No. You think it does, but it doesn’t.”

  I’m skeptical, but I nod.

  Then Hector helps me into my carriage. Ximena and Mara are already inside, still and stoic, hands folded in th
eir laps. Someone barks orders, reigns snap, and we lurch away.

  But thinking of Cosmé’s words, I rip aside the back curtain to wave one last time.

  Armies move slowly, Hector tells me. Still, everyone feels the unspoken urgency. We must reach Brisadulce well before Invierne does.

  We cannot cross the deep desert with horses and carriages, so we skirt it to the north, keeping an even distance from the jungle line of the Hinders to avoid ambush by the Perditos. The carriage pitches and sways at our bruising pace, so I spend a part of each day jogging beside it. It’s hard to believe I ever preferred clunky carriage travel to my own two feet.

  Fortunately, no one tries to coerce me into mounting a horse.

  We don’t even pause to rest when we reach the road that would take us through the Hinders and back to the country of my birth. By the time we pass the place where Aneaxi died of infection, Ximena has thoroughly adopted my new lady-in-waiting into our strange family. I smile to see them laughing together, one gray haired and thickset, the other young and scarred and tall as a palm. Their easy friendship relaxes me. Gradually, through many hair brushings and carriage rides, I tell them both about Humberto. I can’t say a lot at once; the whole picture of him is still too precious. But neither of them press the matter, and slowly his story leaks out of me.

  Nighttime brings horrifying dreams of icy-eyed sorcerers and glowing amulets. Sometimes I’m fleeing from clawed hands that grasp for my navel. Other times, I’m searching for something, searching so desperately because everyone I care about will die if I don’t find it. When I wake, I can’t remember what I was looking for. But I know in those first moments of stirring that there are things I’ve yet to comprehend. I clutch my amulets—the animagus’s caged Godstone and the conde’s ugly golden flower—to remind myself that I’ve been victorious twice.

  I know it is not enough. Something still eludes me.

  In desperation, I close my eyes. “Pray through your doubts,” Father Alentín told me. So I do.