The Crown of Embers

Chapter 22

AFTER baths and a quick meal of salted pork with too-hard bread dipped in onion broth, we agree that Felix will give up the captain’s quarters for me and Mara. He and the men will share the largest passenger cabin below deck.

The next day at midmorning, I’m trying to make sense of the captain’s navigation charts when the crew sends up a raucous cheer, followed by much pattering across the decks. The ship lurches. I rush to the nearest porthole and am delighted to see choppy water pass by. We have caught a wind.

It takes two whole days to unload and sell the wine cargo and acquire a new batch of supplies. I spend the time pacing in the captain’s quarters, trapped and antsy, frustrated at having to backtrack, even for a short distance.

When Felix returns from his final negotiation, he brings back news.

“The queen and the conde are safely on their way to Selvarica,” he says, his eyes dancing. “Apparently it is the city’s greatest shame that the inn she was staying in burned down around her, but no amount of apologies could convince her to stay. They’re already calling it The Great Embarrassment.”

The relief is so overwhelming that I have to sit down. “They’re safe, then. No word about an assassin?”

“Nothing.”

“Good. That’s good.” Thank you, God.

“So, where to, Majesty?”

I look up at him and return his grin. “South, toward the island countships. I’ll know more . . . eventually.”

But as he takes his leave, I wonder, Will I? If God’s holy scripture has thus far proved unreliable in matters pertaining to the Godstone, how much less should I trust the apocryphal writings?

I pinch the bridge of my nose and whisper experimentally: “Zafira.”

My Godstone vibrates joyfully in response.

I’m standing in the prow, gripping the rail, fascinated by the way the Aracely slices the water below. Wind has whipped my braid into a tangled mess. Spray stings my eyes and chaps my lips. The foresail above me bulges with air.

The crewmen have accepted Hector and Belén easily enough, and they gawk at Mara whenever she passes. Storm stays hidden in the passenger cabin. But they give me wide berth, too frightened or shy to approach their queen. Or maybe the captain has warned them off. I don’t mind. It’s nice to feel a little bit alone on this tiny ship.

I sense a dark presence and look up to find Captain Felix studying me thoughtfully. “You’ve found your sea legs,” he observes.

“Not really,” I say. “It seems like they were always there, not needing to be found.” It’s been nice to have something come naturally for once. Storm, on the other hand, can barely get out of bed without vomiting, though we’ve been assured it will pass eventually.

“It’s like that sometimes,” he says. “It was like that for me.”

“Is that why you became a sea captain?”

“Partly.”

“I’m quite interested in the other part. You gave up the life of a conde’s son in favor of a dangerous career running cargo. But from what little I know of Hector’s family, I doubt they threw you out in the street. I’m guessing you ran away.”

He laughs. “Hector warned me that you are the cleverest girl I would ever meet.” My face flushes at the praise. “I understand now,” he adds.

“Understand what?”

“Why Hector stayed with you.”

I stare at him blankly as my grip on the wet rail tightens.

“You really don’t know, do you?”

I force myself to relax my hold. If I squeeze any tighter, I’ll hurt my healing blisters. Wearily, I say, “Please explain.”

He leans over and rests his forearms on the edge, gazes out to sea as if soaking up the sight of a lover. “I was set to inherit the countship of Ventierra,” he says, his voice distant with remembering. “But I hated it. The pageantry, the polite warring between houses, and sweet holy sacraments, the paperwork. One day, when I was seventeen, my father and I fought. I don’t even remember why, but yes, you’re right. I ran away to the shipyards. Offered my services as a deckhand on a merchant ship for no pay except food to eat and a hammock to sleep in.”

“And you fell in love with the sea.”

“Among other things.”

I don’t know what this has to do with Hector. “Why not go back? You could still inherit, couldn’t you?”

“Well, no. You see, I also fell in love with a lady of the docks and had a son with her.”

It takes me a split second to realize that a “lady of the docks” must be a prostitute, a split second more to remember how the crewmen referred to Mara and me as “ladies” when we first boarded.

“When my father heard,” he continues, oblivious to my flushing face, “he journeyed to Brisadulce to rescue me from what he was certain were monumentally bad decisions.” His smile breaks wide. “So when I heard my father was in town, I rushed Aracely to the nearest priest and married her.”

“You named the ship after her!”

He nods. “Well, yes. When you tell your wife you’re going to be gone sailing for several months, and by the way, have fun with our screaming newborn, it helps to make a grand gesture.”

I chuckle. “You are a wise man.”

“Funny, I tell my wife that exact thing all the time!”

“What does this have to do with Hector?”

He sobers. “When I married Aracely, my father gave up trying to groom me to be a conde and turned instead to his next son, my brother Ronin.” Pain flashes across his features, so aching and fresh that I almost recoil. Softly he says, “Ronin died in the war with Invierne. On the day you defeated their sorcerers. He went with Conde Eduardo to defend the southern front and was cut down with an arrow to the chest.”

“Oh.” Hector lost a brother in the war. Barely seven months ago. And I never knew. Why didn’t he tell me? “I’m so sorry,” I choke out.

“So that left Hector,” he said. “To inherit Ventierra.”

I gape at him.

Felix says, “My parents wrote to him, begging him to come home. I wrote to him. His king was dead, after all, and Hector has always been the best of us. Born to lead, to rule. He wrote back. Said he would come home as soon as possible. That he missed Ventierra more than words could say, that he would resign his position as commander of the Royal Guard and give up his seat on the Quorum. But something happened.”

It feels like someone is standing on my shoulders, and I’m frozen with the weight of it.

I happened. I changed his mind. I remember the day well. He came into my office and laid a letter of resignation on my desk. I asked him to reconsider, to become my own personal guard.

“I had no idea,” I whisper. “None at all.” And more recently, after visiting Storm in the tower, he asked me to dismiss him. He thought he had failed me. But maybe, just maybe, he also wanted desperately to go home.

“He gave up a countship for you, Majesty. And the home he loves. I’ve always wondered why. But now I understand.”

I open my mouth to protest but change my mind.

Is it possible? Could Hector love me as much as I love him? Is it cruel of me to wish that he would, when there is no chance for us? Something made him kiss me in the sewer tunnel, at a time when we should have been fleeing.

After too long a silence, I say, “Hector is naturally loyal, with a strong sense of duty. He’ll stay in whatever position he feels will be in best service to his country.” Would he, though? If I gave him the choice, would he stay with me?

“You know him well,” he says.

“No one knows Hector well.”

He says something else, but I don’t hear because my Godstone leaps. I gasp.

“Your Majesty?”

“I’m not sure . . .” The stone tingles, and then I feel the slightest brush across my belly, like butterfly wings. “My Godstone! It . . .” The butterfly wings coalesce into something more solid, poking, prodding, and like ghost fingers, they reach painlessly into my stomach, wrap around my Godstone, and pull. “Oh,” I breathe. “Oh, my.”

“Should I fetch Hector?”

“No. It’s all right.” The sensation eases, but it’s still there, tugging gently. Tugging in a very specific direction. “I think I’ve found it. The way.” I turn to him. “I know which way to go.”

He gives me a skeptical look. I don’t blame him. It seems ridiculous. Maybe I’ve imagined it.

But I close my eyes, let the tugging sensation guide me. It’s faint but sure. I pivot slightly to my right, lining up my toes with the exact direction. I raise my arm and point into the endless watery horizon.

“That way.”

He shakes his head, resigned. “Of course it’s that way. Right into the wind.” He turns toward his crew, cupping his hands to his mouth. “Beat to windward!”

I return to quarters, knowing it’s best to keep out of the way as they work to adjust our course. The Aracely is a warren of ropes and hooks and beams and swinging things, but I seem to have an instinct for it all, and I navigate it with ease. And so much glorious wood! Always kept in polish. Never have I seen so much wood in one place, for it is hard to come by in my desert.

Mara is alone, sitting on the huge bed, her satchel opened and spread out before her. She looks up when I enter.

“I found it, Mara. The zafira. My Godstone sensed it.”

“That’s wonderful news!” she says, closing up the satchel. “I felt us shift course, but I didn’t know why.”

“I’m sorry we had to sell your saffron,” I say, eyeing the leather in her hands. “You took such care to keep it from getting wet, even in the sewer.”

She laughs. “It wasn’t the saffron I was worried about. Something much more valuable.”

“Oh?”

Hector bursts in, and we look up, surprised.

“Felix said you gave him a new course,” he says.

“Yes! Hector, I sensed the way. It called to me. Just like the Blasphemy said.”

He takes a deep breath, whether from relief or trepidation I cannot tell. “That’s good,” he says.

“It’s good,” I agree. I turn to Mara and say, “There’s something I’d like to discuss with Hector—”

“I’ll go visit Storm,” she says. “He’ll hate that.” She gathers up her satchel, and at my curious look, she mouths, “Later.”

After she shuts the door behind her, I turn to face my guard. Neither of us moves to close the distance.

He leans against his brother’s desk and crosses his ankles. His fingers thrum against the beveled edge. It’s the tiniest break in his usual composure, but it’s enough to make me study him closely. He stares wide-eyed at his brother’s rug as if it contains all the wisdom of the world. He’s nervous, I realize. Why?

Ah. Our kiss. He thinks I want to talk about it.

I clear my throat. “Felix told me . . .” This is going to be harder than I thought. But I can’t bear to think that he might be with me against his will. I plop onto the bed, lean my head against the bed post, and try again. “After Alejandro died, you could have inherited Ventierra.”

The words come out wrong, like I’m accusing him of something. They hang in the air between us, and he is silent for so long that I worry I’ve offended him.

At last he says, “I chose not to.”

My fingers dig into the silk bedspread as I softly ask, “And do you regret that choice?”

He hesitates, which tells me all I need to know. “It was the right choice,” he says.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“No,” he agrees, “it’s not.”

I steel myself, force steadiness into my voice. “Hector, I’m so glad you stayed. There is no one I trust the way I trust you. And . . . and whose company I enjoy as much.” Surely my heart is in my eyes, saying all the things I really shouldn’t. “But when this is over, after we’ve found the zafira, I’m going to give you the option to go home. To be free of me. So think about it.”

His mouth parts and his eyebrows lift. After a long moment, he says, “I thought you might marry me to your sister and pack me off to Orovalle. I’m quite the bargaining piece, or so Ximena tells me.” I’m certain I don’t imagine the edge of bitterness in his voice.

I sigh, too loudly. When I see Ximena next, we will have a very long talk about . . . a lot of things. Carefully I say, “It is important that we find a good match for you.” Now my hands are clenched so tightly in my lap that my knuckles hurt. “But only in consultation with your own feelings on the matter. I know what it’s like to not be consulted. I could never do that to you.”

He nods, though he looks everywhere but at me. “It would be very nice to see home again,” he muses, staring out one of the starboard-side portholes. Toward Ventierra.

I smile sadly. “So you already know, then, what your choice will be?”

“No. But I thank you for giving it to me.”

The sun drops below the horizon. Mara and I are alone in Captain Felix’s quarters.

“Storm said something you should know about,” she says as she unravels my braid.

“Oh?” I say, feeling my muscles slacken as she works.

“He said that the gatekeeper would sense you coming. That he would test you.”

The relaxation disappears and I sit straight up. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. But it makes sense that the gate would have a gatekeeper, yes?”

“Maybe so.” I frown, wishing I had thought to bring my own copy of the Blasphemy to study. Ximena was the one who packed it into the queen’s carriage. I never even saw it. Perhaps she meant for me never to see it.

“Father Alentín said something about a test, about proving myself worthy, but nothing about a gatekeeper.”

She pulls the brush through my hair. “Maybe you should pay Storm a visit. Ask him about it.”

“I will, yes. But right now I want to know what’s in that spice satchel. Mara, what could you possibly be carrying that is more valuable than saffron?”

She moves around to face me. Her eyes sparkle. “Just a little something I brought for us.”

I watch, wildly curious, as she retrieves it and lays it out on the bed. She reaches into a pocket and pulls out a clay figurine. It’s ochre-colored, shaped like a naked woman from the knees up. She’s voluptuous, and she crosses her arms over her stomach, as if protecting it.

Mara pulls off its head; it comes uncorked with a popping sound. She tips it, and a few tiny grains spill into her palm.

“Lady’s shroud,” she says. “I have two bottles, one for each of us. Had to sneak it past Ximena. I knew she wouldn’t look in my spice satchel.”

At my confused look, she sighs. “Ximena never told you about lady’s shroud, did she?”

“No.” There are many things Ximena never told me about.

“Take eight to ten of these seeds once per day. No more. Chew them well and swallow.” She pours them back inside the bottle and stoppers it, then shoves it into my hand. “It will keep you from getting pregnant.”

My hand closes around the bottle like a fist. “Oh,” I breathe.

“You don’t have to take it, of course. But I just thought, well, we were going on this journey, and there was so much talk of splitting off, and I knew Hector would be with us, and sometimes the look you two share could liquefy sand, and . . . I wasn’t too presumptuous, was I?”

“No. Well, I don’t know.” I stare at the figurine. She is lush in my hands. Naked. Shameless.

Mara’s voice is softer when she says, “You could have a first time with someone you trust and love.”

I look up at her, startled. So she knows how I feel. If she knows, then Ximena assuredly does too. “He might not have me,” I admit.

“Elisa, he wants you desperately.”

Warmth floods my neck. “I think he regrets staying on as my guard. He may leave after we find the zafira. To go home. And my sister, Crown Princess Alodia, has expressed an interest in betrothal with him. So, you see, it would go nowhere. There is no future for us.”

She moves the satchel aside and sits next to me on the bed. “But you love him,” she says, and at her simple acceptance, the last of my barriers crumbles away.

“Oh, Mara, I do. I love everything about him. I love that he cares so much about honor and duty. I love how, when he’s working hardest to mask his feelings, they’re actually leaking out all over the place. I love the way his hair curls when it gets wet, his slightly crooked smile, the way he smells. When he laughs, I feel it in my toes.” I let my forehead drop onto her shoulder. “I sound like an idiot.”

“Yes,” she says, and I hear the smile in her voice. “You do.”

“He kissed me. In the sewer.”

“Holy God,” she says. “That was very bad timing.”

“The worst.”

“And very unlike Hector.”

“Very unlike him, yes.”

“I really think you should start taking the lady’s shroud. Just in case.”

I straighten, take a deep breath, look calculatingly at the figurine in my hand. “Ximena wanted him to promise not to form an attachment with me.”

She wraps an arm around me and hugs me tight. “Ximena is a wonderful woman, and she loves you very much, but she is a meddlesome fishwife.”

I choke on surprise and laughter.

“You have to be the one to decide, Elisa. Not Ximena. What do you want?”

“I want Hector.” There. I’ve said it.

“Even if it means you can only have him for a short time?”

“I don’t know.”

“Fair enough.” She scoots behind me and reaches for my hair to put it in its sleeping braid. We sway a little as the wind picks up and rocks the ship. It’s comforting, like being rocked in a cradle.

“You said you brought two,” I say. “One for each of us.”

Her fingers on my hair still. “Yes. Belén and I . . . He is so handsome. And capable. Quiet and fiery, both at once.” She sighs. “We’ve both changed a lot. He’s scarred too, now. So maybe he won’t mind that I . . . even after everything that happened between us, I thought . . . maybe . . .”

“Just in case,” I say.

“Just in case,” she agrees.

Tonight, I decide not to take the lady’s shroud. But I wrap it carefully in my spare blouse and stash it in my pack. I lie awake a long time, wondering which would be more foolish, to prepare for something that may never happen, or not to prepare for something that might.