The Bitter Kingdom

4

HECTOR

WHEN I was fifteen, Alejandro released me from service for a summer, to crew on my older brother’s ship. Felix made me learn two dozen sailor’s knots. So I know the one binding my wrists is a type of clove hitch, designed to tighten my bonds if I strain against them.

I’ve tried to keep my wrists relaxed, but the rocking gait of my horse tightens them anyway, leaving my skin bloody and my fingers numb. If by some miracle I escaped, I wouldn’t be able to grasp a sword to fight my way free.

Even so, I am not helpless.

The true power of a Royal Guardsman lies in observation, and they have not thought to blindfold me. Overconfident fools.

Our path leads deep into the Sierra Sangre at a steady incline. Sage and juniper have surrendered to taller pines that block out the sun. I like their tart, lemony smell. I close my eyes and breathe deep of that smell—the sharpness cuts through the pain and helps me stay alert, though I’m careful not to reveal it.

The pine trees have other uses too. Every morning, my captors make tea from pine needles. And last night, one of them peeled back the bark, exposing fleshy white pulp that he scraped into the campfire pot to thicken our soup. Now I’ll be able to survive in the forest, even if I’m unable to escape with provisions.

We ride single file, with me lodged in the middle. We left Selvarica a full company of fifty men, far too many for me to slip away from. But most of the others have peeled off, called by Conde Eduardo to other tasks. Now only twenty remain. Of those, ten are my countrymen. No, not countrymen. Traitors.

I understand the traitors enough to elude them. I know their training. I can use it against them. But the other ten are a puzzle.

They are Inviernos, though they have unusually dark coloring for Inviernos, with burnished skin and black hair. Spies who have passed as Joyans for many years. But now that I’ve seen them up close, I’ll never mistake them again. They are too beautiful and too forthright to be anything but our ancient enemy.

Nor will I underestimate them.

Franco, the leader of this expedition, rides ahead of me. He carries himself like a warrior, as if barely holding himself in check, ready to explode into movement at a moment’s notice. He spied in the palace for more than a year and is as versed in Joyan court politics as he is the art of assassination. He almost succeeded in killing Elisa.

My jaw clenches tight. I’m determined not to think about her. Sometimes it’s a good thing, like when I need a memory to warm myself to sleep, or a reminder of my resolve. But it’s too great an indulgence when I’m deliberating, planning, observing.

Instead I focus on Franco’s neck, imagining my hands wrapped around it, my thumbs crushing the life from his spine and windpipe.

As the sun drops below the tree line, the thin air frosts. Two of my captors help me dismount. They drag me by the armpits to a nearby pine tree and tie me down.

It’s the perfect place from which to observe their camp. The traitor Joyans and enemy Inviernos are supposed to be allies on this mission, but they skirt one another with care. Every night the Joyan tents end up clumped together, apart from the others, and their eyes narrow and shoulders stiffen each time they follow one of Franco’s orders.

It’s an angry, resentful alliance that could burst into conflict at the slightest provocation. I haven’t figured out how yet, but I plan to be the provocation.

Once camp is set up, they send a different interrogator to me than usual, but the questions are the same as always.

“Has the queen learned to call God’s fire with her stone?” he asks. He’s the shortest Invierno I’ve ever seen, with round, childish features and a wide-eyed gaze. I know better than to believe him harmless.

“I don’t know.”

“Does the stone speak to her at all?”

“I don’t know.”

“Has it fallen out? Or does it still live in her belly?”

“I don’t know.”

I see the blow coming, but my dodge is weak and slow. The Invierno’s fist glances across my cheekbone, sending daggers of pain into my eye socket.

“God despises liars,” the Invierno says.

I blink to clear tears from that eye. It’s going to swell shut, but it’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before. I say, “Why would the queen share any of that with me? I’m just a guard.”

“You must think I’m stupid. You’re the second-highest ranking military officer in the kingdom and a Quorum Lord.”

I shrug. “The queen is a very private person.”

The Invierno raises his fist.

“Hit me all you want,” I say. “Pummel me to death, in fact. My answers will not change.”

The Invierno steps back, frowning. “You must love her very much,” he says, not unkindly.

It’s hard to keep my face nonchalant. Because every time someone mentions her, I can’t help but consider the wondrous, new possibility that she might love me back.

Be ready, she said. I’ll come for you.

Oh, I’ll be ready. These traitors will be shocked at how ready. And then they’ll be dead.