The Girl of Fire and Thorns

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 their 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.

We push hard, and our caravan makes the trip from Basajuan to Brisadulce in a little over a month. Like before, we pass a line of palms and suddenly a giant wall rises into the sky, a perfect companion to the yellow-orange sand it springs from. It is so like my first view of the city that my throat squeezes closed. How long have I been gone? Five months? More? I’ve lost track.

Hector calls a halt and rides toward me. I peer up at him, hand shielding my eyes from the desert sun.

“How would you like to enter the city, Elisa? Announced at the main gates? Or do you want to go in through the merchants’ alley again?”

His horse, a blood bay, tosses his head and flares his nostrils. I recoil from the creature, saying, “Not the main gate, please.”

Lord Hector nods. “The merchants’ alley, then.”

He leads us south, along the wall. Up close, I see the changes that have occurred in my absence. Small fortifications extend outside in an even perimeter: dark pits in the sand, hastily constructed walls of brick and clay with arrow slits, mounds of sand covered in tent cloth and hide. High above, figures pace back and forth along the wall’s crest, tiny toy guardsmen with spears and bows.

Inside, the fortifications are even more apparent. Arrows lie in neat piles along the inner wall, and the first buildings we encounter are silent and still, a barrier of abandoned lifelessness ringing the city. Sadness twinges in my chest when we finally encounter the citizens of Brisadulce. They walk hurriedly, heads down, unsmiling. So different from the vibrant society I left behind.

I pull Hector aside when we reach Alejandro’s stables. “You’re certain no one is expecting us?” I ask.

“We did not dare send a message,” he confirms. “Given how the jungle Perditos were able to ambush us on our last journey together. You’re a target now that you are known to be Alejandro’s wife.”

I was a target already just by bearing the Godstone, but I don’t bother to correct him. “And Alejandro does not know what has become of me?”

“He does not.”

I am suddenly glad Ximena never received my coded note. Now I will use the surprise to our advantage.

“Please do not announce us just yet. I would like to make an entrance.”

His eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

“I want to be announced as—as the Lady of the Malficio. In public.”

He considers for a moment. “In that case, I can’t take you to your suite. We’ll have to find another place for you to freshen up. The servants’ quarters, perhaps.”

“That would be perfect.”

We hide in the carriage with curtains drawn while Hector makes arrangements. In no time, Ximena, Mara, and I are ensconced in a plain whitewashed room with a bunked bed. Mara volunteers to sleep on the floor.

King Alejandro will not be holding court until tomorrow afternoon. We order food and stay inside, exchanging stories, pacing. It’s a strange time, for I keep wondering about my husband, about how many walls separate us. This castle should feel familiar and homelike. Here, I am a princess again, a future queen. But I feel distant and cold. I miss the open air, the streaked light-and-shadow combination of our village by the butte.

I miss Humberto.

The next day, Ximena prepares me expertly. She braids a chunk of hair and wraps it around my head like a circlet. The rest falls in waves past my waist. The day we left Basajuan, she threw away my blood-soaked riding leathers and scouted the storerooms for suitable gowns. Today she pulls them out of a traveling trunk one by one for my approval. The first is soft green linen with sheer panels that flow from the gathered waist. “Too feminine,” I tell her. “I need to look like I could have led the Malficio these last months.”

She retrieves a velvet gown next, thick with geometric lines and black trim. But the color, a deep desert red, looks like blood in certain light. I tell her the dress will do if we find nothing more suitable.

Ximena sets aside a riding skirt to reach for the next gown.

“Wait,” I tell her. “What is that?”

She holds up the riding skirt. It splits down the center, and the fabric is a dense, black wool broadcloth. It has a matching corset and vest of forest green with black buttons and trim. It’s strong and ambitious. It looks too small.

“I like it,” Mara says.

It settles over my hips with surprising grace. Ximena laces the corset, amid dire warnings of what will befall her if she yanks too tight. My nurse then rubs a bit of rouge on my lips and below each cheekbone, smears kohl along my eyelashes. Mara watches the process carefully, fascinated.

Lord Hector retrieves us and leads us toward the center of the castle. “King Alejandro knows I’ll be introducing the leader of the Malficio,” he tells me. “But he does not know it is you. You realize, of course, that this slight deception could displease him?”

I smile humorlessly. “I’ll protect you.” Though whether or not I have any influence with my husband has yet to be determined.

I turn to my ladies. “When I am introduced, I need you to watch the crowd for their reaction. I want to understand the sentiment here toward the Malficio. Likewise, when everyone figures out who I am, I want to know if that sentiment changes at all.”

They nod understanding while Lord Hector reflects darkly.

We’re there too soon. I look up at the double doors and feel very small. The last time I entered this audience hall, I stood at the receiving end while a child declared my corpulence to the world.

The doors open to a long walkway hemmed in on both sides by dense humanity. Chandeliers drip heavy from the ceiling above in a perfect line that leads toward the dais and the throne. My husband, King Alejandro de Vega, slumps there in a pose of glorious boredom, shoulders cocked, one long leg sprawled well across the dais floor, his beautiful face barely registering my presence.

“Your Majesty,” Lord Hector intones. “I present the Lady of the Malficio, who has recently slain an animagus by her own hand.”

I glance at him sharply. I hadn’t asked him to say that.

The members of the court peer at me with unabashed interest. Alejandro straightens a little, his eyes narrow. It’s still hard to breathe while he looks at me so intently. Hector gives my elbow a gentle push. I stumble forward, my ladies right behind me.

The king’s face becomes clearer as I approach the dais. It’s strangely void, with only a hint of curiosity. I’ve traversed half the length of the hall when I see his expression change. His eyes travel the length of my body from my feet to my head, lingering on my chest. His lips curve into a half smile. The curiosity remains, and it’s more intense, somehow. Inviting. It’s the face of a stranger.

Heat fills my cheeks. Pleasure sparks inside me, sharp as an arrow. No, it’s not pleasure, it’s power—a kind I’ve never felt before.

Alejandro stands, smiling. “Welcome, Lady of the Malficio,” he says, his voice formal, eyes appreciative.

I almost panic then. The pleasure-power feeling flees, replaced by humiliation. It’s obvious my husband doesn’t recognize his own wife. Yet even in this public place, he can’t be bothered to hide his admiration for a woman he finds attractive.

He used to stare at me so intently, like I was the only thing in the world. Have I changed so much? Or maybe that mesmerizing gaze was just a weapon in his arsenal of appeal. Maybe he never actually saw.

Anger carries me the remaining distance. He is the one who should feel grimy with shame, not me. I reach the dais steps and drop into a curtsy.

“Your Majesty,” I intone, my eyes downcast.

Then, a little voice to Alejandro’s left says, “Elisa? Er, I mean, Your Highness?”

I look up, startled. A young boy is peering wide-eyed from around someone’s ample skirt. Tousled black hair, cinnamon eyes. It’s Prince Rosario, grinning hugely. “It is you!”

I reach out my arms just as he topples forward. He clings to my waist as I bend over and kiss the top of his head. I blink back tears, embarrassed at how much his enthusiastic greeting means to me.

“Oh, my God.” Alejandro steps toward us. “I didn’t rec—we thought you might be . . .”

It’s unforgivable, really. Rosario had no problem recognizing me, in spite of the fact that we spent mere hours together. And Ximena at my back should have been clue enough. But I decide to be kind. “It’s nice to see you again, Alejandro.”

“Yes, yes, you too.” He presses his lips to my forehead, then studies my face. He looks so perplexed that I almost laugh. “What’s this about the Lady of the Malficio?” he asks.

“We have much to discuss.”

He blinks a few times. Then he turns to the crowd and announces, “Court is dismissed for the day.” He grins—that boyish grin that used to melt my toes—and says in a softer voice, “My wife has returned.”

He wraps an arm across my shoulders and pulls me against him, then escorts me from the audience hall while the court mills and murmurs behind us. He seems delighted, now that the initial shock is wearing off.

I wish I knew how I felt.

I tell him a little about my time in the desert, our capture by the conde. But being around him is confusing. Though my ladies and I have been cooped up in the servants’ quarters, I plead hunger and exhaustion and take my leave of Alejandro as soon as I can.

He agrees to give me some time to myself. “We’ll have dinner together tonight,” he insists. “In my rooms. You can finish telling me then.”

I murmur some kind of agreement and let him guide me to my old suite. The queen’s suite. While walking along the stone and plaster corridors—Ximena and Mara trailing behind—I realize the castle seems different. Brighter or fresher. I peer into passageways and alcoves, trying to pinpoint the change. We turn a corner, and my hand brushes palm fronds.

Plants! That’s the difference. They are everywhere. Palms and ferns, mostly, with a smattering of jungle flowers.

“Why are you suddenly smiling so much?” Alejandro asks.

“Potted plants!”

He chuckles. “Yes. It started just after you disappeared. Word got out that you had ordered plants for your suite. Everyone wanted one after that.”

We reach the door. Like the first time Alejandro escorted me here, I feel like a guest staying the night.

He leans down and brushes my lips with his. “Until dinner tonight,” he whispers.

I swallow as he takes his leave. Ximena and Mara rush into the suite ahead of me.

“Oh, it’s lovely!” Mara squeals.

I shut the door. “The Godstones,” I say. “We have to find them. Before we do anything else.” I scan the room, looking for a young palm.

“What are you talking about?” Ximena asks.

“Father Nicandro gave me some Godstones. Old ones. I buried them at the root of a palm tree.”

My nurse appears shocked. She’s still unaccustomed to speaking so openly about such matters. But she no longer frightens me, and I ignore her, striding to the balcony to whip the curtain aside. The balcony is empty.

“There’s a palm in here,” Mara calls from the echoing atrium.

I rush inside and look where she’s pointing. “That’s not it,” I say. It’s too small, too dense. “My palm was taller.” I turn back toward the bedroom, but something catches my eye. The tiles around the tub, the tiny yellow flowers painted on them. Odd four-petaled flowers with splotches of blue. My Godstone jumps in response.

“My sky, that’s the only plant in the suite,” Ximena says. “Are you sure it’s not the one?”

My heart begins to pound with the gravity of the situation. “Oh, Ximena, they’re not here. The Godstones are missing.” Someone must have raided my suite to keep up with the new demand for decorative greenery.

“I’m sure we’ll find them eventually,” Ximena says, her brow knit in perplexity over my panic.

“You don’t understand. We have to find them now, maybe destroy them, before the army gets here. If the animagi get their hands on them before we do, we will lose the war.”