The Bitter Kingdom

5

BY the time Belén calls a halt, my legs and rear scream in pain. It’s as though all the muscle and sinew have been rubbed away, and my entire existence is bone grinding against my granite block of a saddle.

Belén dismounts and reaches up to help me down. I try to lift my right foot from the stirrup, but my body won’t obey.

“Elisa?”

I grit my teeth. “Can’t . . . move.”

He laughs. “Stand up in the stirrups first. Get as high on your toes as possible. It will return some movement to your muscles.”

I do exactly as he says, and it seems to help. But just as I’m swinging my leg around, my thighs seize with cramps, and I topple into his arms.

“See?” he says in my ear. “Not so bad.”

I whimper.

He helps me straighten up. “Walk around a bit. Maybe gather firewood. Then we’ll practice. Otherwise it will just be worse tomorrow.”

Worse? I doubt such a thing is possible, but I nod and start limping away. I should learn how to mind the horse, how to rub her down and maintain the tack. Tomorrow, I tell myself. I’ll ask someone to teach me tomorrow.

“I didn’t realize you were in such pain,” Mara says. She has leaped nimbly off her horse, unbothered by the lack of saddle. “You should have said something.”

“We can’t afford any more delays!”

She sighs. “Oh, Elisa.”

“What?”

Mara stares at me, a strange expression on her face. She opens her mouth, closes it.

I raise an eyebrow. “Just say it.”

She takes a deep breath. “Once only, and then I’ll never bring it up again.”

I force my voice to remain calm. “You can say anything to me.”

“Here it is, then.” Another deep breath. “You’re risking a lot. For a man. I know you love Hector. We all do. But he’s just one person.”

If I hadn’t dismissed my nurse, Ximena, she would be right here in Mara’s place, saying the exact same thing. One of the hardest things about being queen has been learning when to disagree with the people I love most.

“I’m not doing this for love,” I say. “I mean, yes, I love him. But I’ve loved and lost before. It’s awful, but it’s a survivable thing.” I scuff the toe of my boot through the dirt, uncovering pine needles and half-rotted leaves shed by the cottonwood looming over me. My dirt, I think. My land.

“I desperately need that marriage alliance with him,” I tell her. “It will serve as a bond between our northern and southern regions. But mostly . . .” Here, I pause. The thought is still so nebulous in my mind, but I know it’s important. I know it the way I know the sun rises in the east each morning. “I need to see Invierne for myself. I need to learn more about it. Because something is wrong there.”

Storm and Belén have been tending the horses, and as one they freeze in their ministrations and turn to stare at me. “What do you mean?” Belén asks.

I start pacing. It hurts, but it feels good too, as if my body craves movement. “They are desperate for something. They sent an army of tens of thousands after me and my Godstone. When that didn’t work, they resorted to stealth and manipulation. Animagi martyred themselves to shake my country apart. So much loss of life. So much risk. And for what? Why?”

“It’s simple,” Storm says. “They believe it is God’s will that they have you. They believe he’ll restore their power, the kind they had before your people came to this world and changed everything. The animagi could do so much more with living Godstones than with those cold, dead things they carry.”

Mara gasps. It’s almost like a sob. “They burned down Brisadulce’s gate with ‘those cold, dead things’! They killed King Alejandro. They . . .” She flattens her palm against her belly. “They burned me. You’re saying they could do more?”

“Yes,” Storm says. “Oh, yes.”

But I’m shaking my head. “That’s not it,” I say, and they all stare at me. “I mean, I’m sure that’s part of it. But there’s more. None of you were there the day the animagus burned himself alive at my birthday parade, but you heard about it, yes? Read the reports?”

They nod.

“He said the Inviernos were more numerous than the stars in the sky. Is that true, Storm?”

He regards me thoughtfully. “There are many more of us than there are of you.”

“And that single declaration filled our whole country with panic and rage, because what if Invierne sends another army? Even larger than before? We would not survive another such onslaught. But what did he not say?”

“Ah,” Belén says. “I see.”

“What?” Mara says. “What do you see?”

“The animagus did not say they would attack again.”

I nod. “Inviernos only speak literal truth. But . . .” I look pointedly at Storm. “I have learned that they frequently deceive through omission.”

Belén turns to the Invierno. “Is she right? Does Invierne have no intention of invading again?”

Storm hangs his head. I made him dye his hair black so he wouldn’t stand out so much, but now his white-blond roots are growing out in a large skunk stripe along his part. “I don’t know,” he says wearily. “If my training as an animagus had been successful, I would have been inducted into the ruling council and thus privy to so much more. But I failed.”

I stretch my arms high to work out the kinks, somewhat enjoying the burn this produces in my thighs and lower back. “So my next question is: Why not? If they are as numerous as they say, why don’t they invade? I think something is preventing them. And I want to find out what it is.”

“Maybe they’ll invade after they have you and your Godstone,” Mara says. “Maybe that’s why they’re using Hector to lure you to them.”

“Maybe.”

“If they’re vulnerable in any way,” Belén says, “we should attack. Press our advantage.”

Storm turns back to his horse, but not before I catch the flicker of sadness on his face. He is wholly mine now, subject to me in both fealty and friendship. But it can’t be easy to hear us discuss the conquest of his homeland.

“I’ve thought of that,” I say softly. But if it’s true that they’re vulnerable, it means that Invierne is like a desperate mother puma cornered in her den, and thus more dangerous than ever.

We are still too near the village to risk a cooking fire, so we eat a cold meal of dates and jerky. Afterward, Storm sits cross-legged to meditate, and Mara practices a quick draw and pull with her bow and a quiver full of arrows.

Belén and I find an open space to practice, and I learn to block an overhanded strike with a dagger. Belén shows me how to position myself so that my entire body absorbs the blow. We practice until my wrist and shoulder socket ache and my already wobbly legs are as weak as coconut pudding. Exhausted but feeling accomplished, I flip out my bedroll to finally get some rest. No tents—the night is warm enough, and we need to pack up and move out as quickly as possible at first light.

Belén takes the first watch. I don’t bother to remove my boots before lying down. I’m asleep in moments.

A chill at my belly drags me from sleep. I wake with a sword pointed at my throat.

I start to roll away, but the sword presses deeper, pricking my flesh as the Godstone shoots ice through my veins. The villagers have found us. We’ll be hanged for thieves after all.

But no. The man staring down the blade at me has a complexion as tough as tanned leather. His hair and beard are wild and matted, his clothes ragged and torn, and he reeks of old sweat.

Highwaymen, then. We are being robbed. And murdered, if I don’t figure a way out of this.

I move my eyes to place my companions. Mara and Storm are in equally tenuous positions, each trapped beneath a sword held by a ragged man. I can’t find Belén. Either he has already fallen, or he is hiding nearby. Please, God, let Belén be hiding.

The man looming over me opens his mouth to speak, but I preempt him. “What did you do with the others?” I demand.

He blinks. “Others? What others?”

“Our companions. Five of them. They should have returned from scouting by now. If you have killed them, I’ll have your heads.” A knife is sheathed in my right boot. I’m not sure how to grab it without being obvious, but I have to try. I bend my knee slightly to bring my foot closer and reach, hoping the bedroll disguises my movements.

“The girl is lying,” says the one who has trapped Mara. “They have supplies for four people, no more.” His accent is thick and gruff, as if speech comes rarely.

“You’re certain? Wouldn’t do to have vengeance on our tail,” the third says.

My fingertips have reached the top of my boot. “If you let us live, I promise no one will come after you.” Just a little farther . . .

“An Invierno!” one yells. “Look at those eyes. Greener than an alpine meadow.”

The sword at my neck wavers.

I fling off the bedroll and leap to my feet, drawing my knife. Belén bursts from the bushes, screaming the Malficio war cry.

My would-be captor swings his sword at me. I jump back, and the tip misses my belly by a finger’s breadth. We circle each other warily. Someone scuffles behind me, and I want more than anything to turn and make sure my companions are all right, but I don’t dare.

“You’re a traitor, aren’t you, girl?” he says with a wicked grin that displays blackening teeth. “An enemy spy.”

If Hector were here, he would tell me to run instead of fight. But maybe I can come up under his guard. Or jam his nose into his brain, or—why is he grinning?

An arm wraps my shoulders and hot, sticky breath coats my neck as a knife pricks the skin just below my ear. “Best to drop your dagger, girl.”

Oh, God. He must have dispatched one of my companions to come after me.

I raise my heel and slam it into his instep, like Hector taught me. He screams as bones crunch, his grip releasing. I spin around and thrust my knife with all my strength. He is bent over in pain, so the knife plunges into the hollow of his throat, right above his sternum.

I yank my knife back. Blood sprays, and I blink to clear my eyes as I whirl to face my original attacker.

His eyes are wide with rage and terror, and he leaps at me, raising his sword. The blade flashes in the rising sun, and in this split second, I know I am not fast enough to avoid it.

Then his head whips back, and his body seems to twist in midair. He falls hard to the ground, one leg sprawled unnaturally, an arrow shaft protruding from his bloody eye socket.

I turn around slowly, dazed, breathless. It’s a moment before everything makes sense.

Mara stands tall and fierce, bow in hand. Blood oozes from a huge bruise already blossoming on her forehead. “He bashed my head with a rock,” she says in a shaky voice. “He thought he killed me.”

Behind her, Storm and Belén have wrestled the third man to the ground and are tying his hands. He seems unaware that he’s being tied down. He just stares at his fallen companions.

Our bedrolls and supplies are scattered everywhere, covered in dirt and blood. One of my pack’s straps is broken, torn from its mooring.

“How did this happen?” I ask. “How did they sneak up on us?”

“It’s my fault,” Belén says. “I fell asleep on my watch.” He runs a hand through his black hair. “I haven’t done that since I was ten years old.”

His eye patch is askew, and I focus with determination on the bridge of his nose. I say, “Among my Royal Guard, falling asleep on watch is punishable by death.” I don’t mean it as a threat, and I’m not sure why it comes out of my mouth.

Mara gasps. “Elisa, you can’t!”

“No, no, of course not,” I say quickly. “It’s just . . . this is my fault. I’ve pushed us too hard. Belén hasn’t slept in days. He kept watch last night as I slept, and I . . . I’m sorry.”

Storm puts up a hand to get my attention and points to the man sitting tied up at his feet. Unkempt hair is bound into a messy queue with a leather tie. He has a wide, flat nose with a large bump at the bridge, like it’s been smashed a time or two. His shoulders are like boulders, his forearms veined with muscle. He could break me in two if he wanted, and yet he gawks at me, wide-eyed with terror.

And I realize we’ve made another mistake. I mentioned my guard. The others said my name.

“You’re her,” he whispers. “You’re Queen Elisa.” Even with his hands tied, he manages to prostrate himself, forehead against the ground. “Forgive me, Majesty. I didn’t know.”

“Murder is not less of a crime when the victim is common born.” My knife is still in my hand. I hold it up to the light. “Why did you attack us?”

“For food, Majesty. Supplies. We can’t show our faces—”

“You’re deserters.”

He says nothing.

Conde Eduardo conscripted these men to fight against me, and they refused. From cowardice or loyalty, I’ll never know, because now that he has identified me, he must die.

Storm gives me a questioning look, and I nod slightly. In a single fluid motion, he whisks a stiletto knife from somewhere beneath his cloak and plunges it through the base of the man’s head, severing his spine. The man topples over and twitches in the dirt.

I’m somehow more horrified by this killing than the other two. So cold, so quick. I take a deep breath. I will not vomit. I will not even flinch. “There are still many things I do not know about you, Storm,” I say calmly as the body bucks once more before becoming irrevocably still.

“You have but to ask,” Storm says. “I am your loyal subject.”

I meet his green-eyed gaze steadily, considering. “Belén,” I say. “Storm and I will take the first watch tonight. We have things to discuss.”

We don’t dare take time to bury the bodies, so we drag them into a thicket of mesquite and cover them with brush and tumbleweed. There’s no way to clean the campsite. The best we can do is pour dirt and detritus on the blood puddles and hope no one passes by for a few days.

I scrub at my face and hands with sand, disturbed at how quickly blood goes cold and thick outside the body. My skin still feels sticky with it as we climb onto our horses.

We exit the copse of trees and nose our mounts back onto the trail. The ache in my legs has abated a little, but I’m not sure how I’ll make it a whole day on horseback. I think of Hector, and I grit my teeth and spur my mare forward.

Something squeals high above, and I look up to find three vultures circling lazily in the crystal sky.

The sun is not yet high when Mara slumps over her mare’s neck and lists to the side.

“Mara?” I call out, but she doesn’t answer. “Belén, something is wrong with Mara!”

He whips his horse around—I’m not sure how, since he rides without tack—and gallops toward us. He draws alongside Mara and hooks her armpits just as she topples from her mare’s back. As one, they tilt precariously.

I swing my leg around and slide from my mount just in time to grab my lady-in-waiting before Belén loses his grip. He slips off his horse, and together, we leverage her to the ground.

“Storm,” I call out. “Will you look around for a campsite?”

I don’t bother to see if he complies, for Mara groans loudly, only half conscious.

“It’s the blow to her head,” I say. “She’s concussed.” I shouldn’t have ordered everyone to set off so soon. I should have taken the time to check everyone’s wounds.

Belén slaps her cheek lightly. “Stay awake, Mara.”

She groans again, blinking, her eyes unfocused.

“She saved my life,” I murmur as Belén palpates the pillowed bruise on Mara’s forehead. My heart sinks into my stomach as I realize he’s looking for a crack in her skull.

“Mara is a warrior,” he says simply, and he gazes at her with such respect and affection that my heart aches a little. “Did she ever tell you how she found your Malficio camp? How she led twelve children through the wilderness to safety after the Inviernos destroyed her village?”

“No,” I say.

“Shut up,” Mara mumbles.

He reaches out as if to stroke her cheek but stops himself, instead grasping her chin and turning her head to the side to get a better angle. “I don’t think anything is broken. But she should rest. She’ll probably vomit a lot.”

I breathe a sigh of relief.

Storm returns with news of a small clearing nearby, hidden from view but easy to access. No water source in sight, but we always carry extra and should have enough for a day or so.

Belén helps Mara to her feet and hitches her arm over his shoulder. “Elisa, can you lead our horses?”

I control the shudder before it can pass through me. “Of course.” Horses aren’t so bad, I tell myself, and these have been perfectly docile. I grab the reins of my mare and lead her forward, hoping Mara’s and Belén’s horses will follow. They do.

We’ve penetrated the foothills enough that sand and shale have ceded to gravely soil and stubborn grass. We make camp in a brown meadow surrounded by juniper bushes and struggling, stunted trees. The Sierra Sangre looms over us, the jagged peaks capped in snow that shines pristine in the sun, but blurs icy blue in the shadows. I can’t imagine conquering such a landscape armed with only mountain ponies and determination, but conquer it we must.

Beyond them lies Invierne, Storm’s homeland, my enemy, a country no one from Joya d’Arena has been allowed to set foot in for centuries. And yet they have invited me—no, coerced me—to come. To trade my life for Hector’s. To offer myself as a living, willing sacrifice toward an end I cannot guess.

They have no idea what is coming.

While Storm ties the horses to the scrub oak, Belén and I help Mara stretch out on her bedroll. “Elisa?” she whispers as I feel her forehead for fever. “My head hurts.”

It startles me. So rarely do I hear Mara complain. “I could heal you,” I offer. I’ve healed before with the power of my Godstone. I can only do it for people who are dear to me, and at great physical cost, but I can’t bear to see my friend in pain. Worse, our objective cannot bear more delays.

She shakes her head. “No, no, not yet. If one of us has to lose consciousness, it might as well be me.” Her head lolls to the side, and her eyes drift closed.

“Mara? Belén says you shouldn’t sleep.”

“Just . . . resting eyes. Heal me tomorrow. If I’m not . . .”

Belén slaps her awake again.

“I hate you,” she says.

“Yes,” he agrees solemnly. “For years now.”

I clamber to my feet. “I’m going to have a long talk with Storm. Tell me if something changes. Also, you will get some rest tonight. Think of it as a royal command.”

His lips quirk. “Yes, Majesty.”

Storm has tied up the horses, and now he sits against a tree trunk, his long legs sprawled out before him, his eyes closed. He always wears a cowl and cloak, no matter how stifling the desert heat, but for once his hood is tilted back, the ties of the cloak undone and open, showing the thin tunic beneath. It’s soft linen, and the hem and seams are embroidered with a border of golden flowers with winding blue stems. It’s far too lovely a frock for traveling.

With his face uncovered, his eyes closed and his features relaxed, I’m reminded how beautiful he is. Such a fine cast to chin and cheeks, with slightly tilted eyes and a small, straight nose leading to full lips. He looks like my sister, I realize with a start. She has the same uncanny beauty, the same delicacy that hides a sharp mind and steely focus.

My sister. I haven’t seen Alodia in more than a year. I hope she got my message, that she’s willing to participate in a parliament with Cosmé and me and will be waiting in Basajuan. I’ll need the support of them both if I’m to retake my country.

Storm opens one eye and peers at me. “What do you want?”

I grin. “The pleasure of your charming company, of course.”

He grunts, but he shifts aside to give me space against his tree trunk. I settle next to him, stretching out my legs. It feels nice to be in a different position. After being in the saddle so long, it seemed as though my legs would shape themselves to the barrel roundness of my mare’s body and never straighten again.

“You want to know about me,” he says. “How I killed that man so easily.”

I nod. “I’ve seen three people kill that efficiently, and all of them were highly trained.” I count them off on my fingers. “My former nurse, Ximena, who was groomed to be my guardian by the Monastery-at-Amalur. Hector, who is the commander of the most elite military force in Joya d’Arena. And Conde Tristán, who once rescued me and several of my Royal Guard almost singlehandedly. You move like them. So fast, so assured, so . . .” My voice breaks. They’re all people I’d give anything to see safe and in good health again—no matter the terms of our parting.

“Yes, I’m like them.”

I sigh, frustrated at how he makes me work for every smidge of information. “Why? Are you an assassin like the man who took Hector?”

He snaps, “I’m nothing like Franco.”

“In all the ways that matter, no. Storm, just tell me.”

He brings his knees to his chest. “I was trained to defend myself and to kill without hesitation because I am a prince of the realm. Everyone with royal blood receives an education in the killing arts.”

“Just how close were you to the throne of Invierne?”

He shakes his head. “It doesn’t work that way. There is no one king so much as a council of rulers called the Deciregi. Your people would think of them as priest kings.”

“The Deciregi,” I murmur. “They’re animagi, then? Sorcerers?”

“Yes. The ten most powerful in the world. A Deciregus must be of royal blood and born with a Godstone. I was groomed to represent my family in the Deciregi from a very young age. But I failed. My stone fell out too early, and I was never able to call upon its magic. So later, when my cousin was born with a Godstone and showed potential, they named him successor instead and exiled me to Joya d’Arena.”

“To recoup some of your honor in the role of ambassador.”

“I was to bargain for port rights and make inquiries as to the identity of the new bearer.”

“But you were forced to go into hiding?”

“Exactly so. Once the Invierne army began to gather, I knew my people had given up on diplomacy. This second failure made my life forfeit.”

The Deciregi. The most powerful animagi in the world. Those I’ve already faced seemed powerful enough, with their firebolts and invisible shields—not to mention their mysterious attraction to my Godstone, which makes it nearly impossible for me to hide from them.

“It’s brave of you to return with me,” I say, “given the death sentence on your head.”

He shrugs. “We’ll sneak in and out as quickly and quietly as possible.”

I bend my knees and rest my elbows on them, looking over toward Belén, who still leans over Mara’s prone form. I smile to myself. Mara hates Belén much less than she lets on.

“Elisa?” Storm says. “That is your plan, is it not?”

I place my fingertips to the Godstone, seeking assurance in its solidness. “Yes. But it won’t be as easy as you make it sound. That’s why they took Hector, after all—to draw me to Invierne. They’re expecting me. So, if stealth doesn’t work, I will make a loud and noisy entrance and wreak as much havoc as possible.” I turn to measure his reaction to what I’ll say next. “A deception may be in order. If we can’t rescue Hector quietly, I want you to pretend I am your prisoner.”

His mouth opens. Closes.

“I know lying is difficult for you,” I add hastily. “But deception is not. You had no qualms about convincing Eduardo’s soldiers you were an animagus.”

“I will not have to lie?”

“Not with words, no.”

He returns my gaze, and his green eyes dance. “Then, yes, I like this plan. They would not kill me if I brought them the bearer of the only living Godstone. They would welcome me as a hero.”

“A prince of the realm.”

He leans back against the tree trunk and closes his eyes. “A prince of the realm,” he agrees softly.

One way or another, I will have Storm reinstated and his honor restored. I haven’t told him yet, but he has an important role to play in wresting my kingdom back from Conde Eduardo. And I suppose now is as good a time as any to begin putting that part of my plan into motion.

Carefully I say, “Since going to meet the zafira, my Godstone has been more alive inside me than ever. More sensitive to my prayers, more . . . everything.”

His eyes turn as hard and glittery as emeralds, with either anger or excitement. “But you gave up the power. You brought a whole mountain down on the zafira!”

“Yes, I tried to give it up. And I don’t buzz with power the way I did when we were on that island. But it’s still there. Like a pesky fly that won’t be swatted away. I think the zafira isn’t as done with me as I am with it. So I might as well use it, right?”

“Of course.”

“So once we are into the mountains, away from the villages and priests who might sense my Godstone, I’d like to try a few things. I can already heal with it, and when I was connected directly to the zafira, I was able to create a protective barrier to fend off the gatekeeper.”

“You made things grow too,” he adds. A muscle in his jaw twitches, like he’s barely keeping his excitement in check. Maybe this is a conversation he has been anticipating. “And you freed me by breaking my chains. Nothing has been able to break them since.”

“And I couldn’t break them now, without direct access to the zafira. But there are some things I could always do just by reaching through the skin of the earth. Something happened to me in that cavern, Storm. And though it’s nothing like the feeling I got when the power was swirling all around me, I suspect . . . I hope . . . that I can do more than I used to.”

His fingers are fisted in his tunic now. He knows what I’m going to say next.

“So, I’d like to try summoning fire, like your animagi do. And . . . I’d like you to try it too.”

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at me.

I press on. “I suspect the zafira changed you too. You could sense it as we approached, remember? And it touched you, claimed you for its gatekeeper before I stole you away. So maybe it has awakened your stone a little. Maybe you can do things with it now that you couldn’t before.”

His hand goes to his chest, where he clutches the amulet that hangs hidden beneath his tunic. I’ve seen it only once before—a tiny iron cage, black with age, that houses a blue jewel just like the one that lives in my navel.

Except his is powerless. Dead.

“We could train together, you and I.” Gently I add, “No one need know about it, save our companions.”

He is silent for a long time. One of the horses snorts and tosses her mane. Something rustles in the tumbleweed beside us.

“I will try it,” he says at last. “Once we are in the mountains. Near the divide, beyond the free villages, is a weeklong stretch of travel where we will not encounter even a trading post. That will be a good time.”

“Yes,” I agree, relieved to have convinced him so easily. “A very good time.”