The Bitter Kingdom

32

THE last time I was here, I was placed under house arrest, and the first boy I ever loved was brutally murdered.

A herald stands at the closed door. He starts to inquire how to announce us, but Jacián pushes past him and flings the doors open himself.

Inside is chaos. Pages sprint in and out of the side entrances, no doubt carrying messages to and from the guard towers. Cosmé’s personal guards line the walls. A large handful of people—soldiers, attendants, a few nobles—argue loudly over a table strewn with parchment.

I sort through the crowd looking for someone I know, my heart pattering with both anticipation and dread. I find Cosmé first, and when our eyes meet, she elbows people out of the way and dashes toward me, her short curls bouncing wildly.

When at arm’s length, she pulls up short. Her mouth works to say something, but nothing comes out. Finally she whispers, “Elisa . . . I’m under attack.”

It’s the closest she’ll ever get to telling me she’s terrified. “It looks bad out there,” I say gently.

She nods, swallowing hard. “It’s so different from . . . from . . .”

“Leading a desert rebellion?”

She raises an eyebrow at me, and just like that, the old Cosmé is back. “We’ve been through worse, right?”

“Sure we have.”

“Liar.” She grabs my hands and squeezes. Then she looks me up and down, frowning. “You’re disgusting.”

“I dressed to commemorate the time you dragged me through the desert.”

She snorts, then quickly surveys my companions. Her eyes flicker when she sees Belén, but she says, “Reunions and introductions later. Right now we . . .” Her gaze catches on Storm. She strides over and sticks her nose in his face. “You, I would kill on sight if you weren’t in the company of—”

“Queen Cosmé!” I say quickly. “Allow me to introduce He Who Wafts Gently with the Wind Becomes as Mighty as the Thunderstorm. You may call him Ambassador Storm, or Lo Chato. He is a friend and ally, and under my protection.”

In a cold voice, she says, “Very well. You are most welcome here, Ambassador Storm.” Then she yanks me toward the table. “We have work to do. And there’s someone here who wants to see you.”

I beckon for my companions to follow, wanting to sense their presence nearby, and I allow myself to be led toward the table. The people surrounding it part to make way.

Alodia stands as tall and stiff as a flagpole, her hands clasped before her. She is as beautiful as always, with golden skin that nearly shimmers and lush black hair pulled back into a loose knot that brings out the perfect lines of cheek and jaw. My sister has always been a study in contrasts, with petite, feminine features that bely her strength of carriage. No one looking at her would think her frail.

She seems older—so much older than the mere year and a half we’ve been apart should warrant. Her eyes are weary, her lips pressed firm, and she is as cold and unreadable to me as always. A statue of frozen, impenetrable perfection. My hearts sinks. My sister and I might be strangers to each other forever.

But suddenly, I don’t care about any of that. My legs run toward her of their own accord, and my arms stretch wide, because no matter what, I am so glad to see her. I barely register the moisture brimming in her eyes before our arms are wrapped around each other. She clings fiercely, and I breathe in her familiar jasmine perfume as she whispers into my hair, “Elisa. My sister.”

Someone coughs politely, and we disengage. Alodia swipes at her cheek, dons her usual veil of composure, and says, “We have much to discuss.”

“Where do we stand?” I say. “What is our plan?”

Cosmé gestures toward the table. She pushes aside several inventory lists to reveal a large map of the city. “The Inviernos circled Brisadulce yesterday, burning out crops and minor holdings. They stopped here”—she jabs the map with a forefinger—“where our fortifications are the weakest. They’re staying just out of range of the trebuchets. They haven’t begun their major assault yet, and I’m not sure what they’re waiting for.”

“They need to get their strength back,” I mutter as I size up the city’s layout. Now that I’ve destroyed—no, killed—their power source, the zafira comes more slowly to them, as it does to me. “How many?”

“Only sixty or so,” Alodia says. “But almost every one appears to be an animagus.”

“They’re keeping a tight formation,” says one of Cosmé’s advisers, a man I don’t recognize. “We’ve held off attacking, hoping to lure them near enough to do close-quarters damage.”

“We hope—believe—the range of our archers to be greater than that of their firebolts,” Cosmé adds.

Alodia points to the back wall of the palace. “We have an egress planned through here, just in case,” she says. “This alley leads to a secret door in the city wall. We will flee into the hills if necessary.”

Cosmé glares at my sister. “I won’t give up my city easily.”

“Of course not.”

An explosion rattles the audience hall, and Cosmé clutches the table.

“Not yet within the wall,” Jacián says.

Cosmé gives him a grateful nod, but she gestures to a young page and says, “Find out exactly what that was and where it came from.” The page dashes off.

“Your Majesty,” someone yells, “we must close the city gates now!”

“Do it,” Cosmé says.

“Does anyone know if our mounts are ready yet?” Alodia calls across the room.

Cosmé whirls on her. “Why are you so eager to give up?”

Alodia blinks. “I’m just being cautious. The Inviernos could dispose of all three of us in one blow if we are not quick to flee when the time comes.”

“Is that what you’d think if the Inviernos were attacking your capital?”

I need to take charge before the situation disintegrates. I catch Hector’s eye, and he gives me an encouraging nod.

I take a deep breath. “Cosmé, Alodia,” I interrupt, and everyone turns to look at me. “We can’t flee. We must stop the Deciregi right now.”

“Who?” says Cosmé.

“These animagi are not the usual kind. Eight of them are Invierne’s ruling council of priest kings. The most powerful sorcerers in the world.”

Cosmé’s eyes burn with fierceness. “Deci-something or not, they’re close together in a phalanx formation—an easy target. When they get too near the guard towers, my archers will take them out.”

I’m shaking my head even before she’s done. “You underestimate them.”

Her face darkens. “I’ve faced the animagi in battle the same as you,” she says. “I know full well—heartbreakingly well—what they’re capable of.”

I glance at Alodia for support, but my sister just shrugs. “Unless you have a better plan,” she says, “I need to get back to strategizing our retreat. Feel free to contribute at any time.”

Something snaps inside me. My fists clench at my sides. “I do have a better idea.”

“Oh?” says Cosmé.

I ignore her. “Storm, this phalanx formation. Is it because of a barrier?”

The Invierno nods. “One of them creates the barrier, allowing the others to attack at will. It also prevents backlash from their own fire, if they’re heading into the wind.”

“Which means Her Majesty’s archers will be completely ineffective.”

“Exactly so.”

Cosmé and Alodia glance at each other in alarm. The advisers mutter among themselves. I catch the words “trebuchet” and “crossbow”—as if these more powerful weapons stand a chance against magic.

Very loudly, very clearly, I ask Storm, “Could I get through the barrier, do you think?”

He nods. “Undoubtedly.” He looks around, recognizes that we perform for an audience, and says with a dramatic flair, “You are the only person in the world who could.”

I promise myself I’ll thank him later.

“What do you have in mind?” says Alodia. “Do you think you could walk right up and tap them on the shoulder?”

“Something like that.”

Another explosion makes everyone jump. Someone’s knee jerks the table; parchment slides off and scatters all over the floor. In the distance, faintly, comes the sound of screaming.

“That was a trebuchet,” I tell them. “Such a clumsy, inaccurate weapon. The sorcerers are closing in.”

Cosmé rubs at her temples. I hope she’s having doubts about her strategy.

“Elisa, just tell us,” my sister says, and her tone is so exasperated, so familiar, that I almost smile.

“I’m going to go talk to them,” I say. “I’ll convince them to turn around and go home.”

Lord Zito, Alodia’s personal steward, steps toward my voice. A scarf covers his empty eye sockets. “No one has been able to reason with them for generations.”

“I’ll show them that their magic can’t stand against that of my living Godstone. Then I’ll convince them that we are united, that even without magic, their armies are no match for all three of our countries working together. And finally I’ll offer something they want very badly in exchange for peace.”

Cosmé starts to protest, but Alodia says, “Elisa, tell me truly. Have you attained that kind of power? The kind that would frighten an animagus?”

“I have.”

Her eyes widen and her lips part. She says to Storm, “You always speak truly, yes?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“You are also an animagus, are you not?”

“I am.”

“And you believe my sister has the kind of power she claims?”

“No,” he says. “She is being modest.”

Storm is overstating things. Walking up to the Deciregi while under fire could easily get me killed.

But a smile spreads across Alodia’s face.

Storm opens his mouth to say something else, but nothing comes out. He seems caught in the mesmerizing beam of my sister’s smile. I’ve seen it happen a dozen times before. My sister’s beauty is one of the most powerful weapons in her arsenal, and she always uses it to good effect. I’m a bit surprised, though, that Storm is susceptible. For some reason, I thought him above such things.

“Even if we agree that you should risk yourself,” Cosmé says, “which we do not, we would need to give them proof of our unity. There’s no way we could come up with a proper accord so quickly. Maybe an abbreviated agreement, to be filled in later? No more than a page long. We could . . .”

I sigh as she drones on. This is why I called us together, after all. As we reach a unique crux in history, when three queens regnant rule the larger part of the world, I wanted us to be in accord. I wanted to bring a treaty back to Joya d’Arena to wave around and say, “See? These monarchs have made an agreement with me, your true queen.” Such an accord would make it very difficult for anyone challenging my rule to gain leverage.

But we don’t have time. The ground shakes, and Alodia clutches her steward’s shoulder. A soldier bursts through the door. Breathlessly, he exclaims, “They’re in the city. The castle watch is flinging quarry stone at them, but they keep coming. We have not been able to injure even one. They’re burning people. . . .”

It’s time to make my last play.

“I’ll save this city,” I say. “And I’ll either destroy the Deciregi or send them home.” I let my gaze sweep the room, trying to appear composed and regal. No, imperial. “But I will do it only if Basajuan and Orovalle swear fealty to Joya d’Arena.”

Someone gasps. Cosmé and Alodia gape at me. And suddenly I am facing down a roomful of rage.

One of Cosmé’s guards puts a hand to his scabbard. My companions shift around me so that within the space of a breath, I have Hector and Storm to my left and right, with Mara, Belén, and Red at my back.

“I admit, I never guessed you were so ambitious,” Alodia says. She bites it off like she would an insult, and I am very careful not to wince.

Of course she would misunderstand me. I’ve never had ambition to rule the world. Even now, knowing it’s my best possible course, the title “empress” tastes like dirt in my mouth.

Cosmé says, “You would hold my own country hostage over me?”

I smile sadly at her. “You know me well enough by now, don’t you, Cosmé? You know I would do anything, anything, to save us all?”

Another explosion rocks the castle, even more powerful than before. The windowpanes rattle. “That was not a trebuchet,” Hector says. “That was a Deciregus.”

“So what’s it to be?” I say. “Your archers have failed. Do I go out there with your written oaths in hand? Or do I go home to defend my own kingdom?”

“This is outrageous!” says one of Cosmé’s advisers. “The audacity, the arrogance it must take to—”

Cosmé holds up a hand to silence him. “I want full ruling autonomy,” she says softly.

I’m careful to keep my surge of triumph from showing on my face. “I make no promises. I require total fealty so I can make very fast decisions in the coming months. I can say that I’ll try not to interfere. I’ve no interest in meddling in daily affairs.”

Cosmé plunks into the nearest chair and lets her face fall into her hands. “Everything I’ve fought for. Everything I’ve accomplished. All for nothing.”

“No,” I protest. “Basajuan is still yours. You’ll still be its queen. I swear it.”

Alodia is stiff in the space beside us, her arms crossed. “I assume Joya would require an annual tithe?” she says.

I nod. “In return, I’ll station garrisons along your border at my own expense. I’m willing to reduce the first year’s take to five percent, if paid in sheep’s hides.” There. That ought to mollify the tanners’ guild, which has been suffering the shortage ever since Basajuan seceded.

My sister turns her back to me. Such a familiar gesture. A year or so ago, I would have thought myself the object of her contempt, not worthy to be faced. But I see the truth of it now. She hates looking vulnerable in front of anyone, but especially in front of me.

“They will take Basajuan,” I say softly to her back. “They will do it today. Then they will use Basajuan as a base to launch an army at Orovalle. They’ll come for me last, when they are strong again. I can’t hold off a whole army. I’m only one person, and I can’t defend every approach at once. Swear fealty to me, Alodia. This is my one chance, my only chance, to protect us all at the same time. And Invierne will know forever after that attacking any one of us will result in severe retaliation.”

“I want an addendum,” Cosmé says. “Separate from the document you show the Inviernos, stating that our fealty is contingent upon you being able to keep your word.”

Alodia turns back around. Her face is blanched, her eyes dull with weariness. “Yes,” she says. “An addendum. Elisa, if you can drive the Inviernos away and ensure peace, you can have your empire.”

I almost wilt with relief. I gesture toward the man still feverishly scribbling at the table. “Mr. Secretary,” I say. “Write this down.”

I dictate a short missive, proclaiming myself empress of the Joyan Empire, vowing to serve and protect our treasured kingdoms of Joya d’Arena, Orovalle, and Basajuan. Then Cosmé and Alodia each dictate a paragraph swearing utter fealty. We sign, seal, and stamp it. The secretary hurriedly scribes two copies, and we sign, seal, and stamp those too.

Cosmé dictates the addendum, declaring my proclamation null and void should I fail to rid our three nations of the Invierno threat.

It all happens so fast, without trumpets or fanfare; the only thing that accompanies my rise to the highest possible station in the world is a general deflating of spirits.

The secretary shakes sand from one of the copies and blows on the remaining ink. I snap my fingers at him as the earth quakes again. “No time. Give it to me.”

He does, and I’m careful not to smear it, holding it out from my body. Alodia’s signature catches my eye. She has written “queen” beside her name and stamped the wax not with the seal of the crown princess, but with Papá’s own signet ring. Something unpleasant twists in my chest.

For years now, she has had authority to act in his stead, with all the rights and privileges due a fully empowered monarch. I thought it was because Papá favored her so much. Because she was being groomed to reign.

The parchment in my hand trembles. “Papá . . .” I say. “He’s . . . he’s gone, isn’t he?”

A muscle in her cheek twitches. “Last month,” she says. “I postponed my official coronation to come here.” Her voice is colorless; she might as well be reading a storeroom inventory list.

“He’s been sick a long time, hasn’t he?” It all makes sense now. How thin he became. Alodia’s growing responsibilities. The fact that he declined to attend my coronation.

“He lived longer than we expected.” Finally, there is a softening of her features, as her lips part and she casts her eyes downward. “He worked hard—right up until the point when he could no longer hold a quill in his hand.”

I want to rage at her. I want to throw a colossal fit, kicking and screaming and pummeling her with my fists. Why, why, why did you not tell me, Alodia?

But I already know the answer. They did not tell me anything. They didn’t tell me why they married me off to King Alejandro. Or that my nurse, Ximena, was a specially ordained guardian, trained to fight and kill. They worked especially hard to keep me ignorant of all matters pertaining to the Godstone. I had to figure everything out for myself. And though they’ve excused themselves by citing faith or love or “what’s best for you, Elisa,” I know differently.

They didn’t tell me any of these things because they didn’t think I could handle the truth.

I’d like to rage at Papá too. But I can’t. Now that I know I’ll never see him again, I can acknowledge the hope I’ve harbored, the silly thought that maybe, after defeating the Invierne army and releasing the power of my Godstone, after stopping a civil war and learning to rule in my own right, we’d meet again and he would say, “I’m proud of you, Elisa. Well done.” Then he would hug me and tell everyone, “My daughter Elisa is better than two sons!” And I would know that I was just as dear to him as Alodia.

Such silly hopes. Now, even if I save the world, he’ll never know.

“Elisa?” My sister starts toward me, one hand half raised.

I turn my back on her. “Storm, Hector, with me. And Cosmé—I’ll need you to order the gates opened. The rest of you stay here.” We’re halfway to the door when an unbidden prayer for safety and luck springs to my lips, but I tamp it down. The Deciregi may not know that I’m here yet. It should be an interesting surprise.

When I’m in the doorway, I turn around and say to my roomful of new vassals: “Pray for me.”