The Crown of Embers (3 page)

To Mara, I say, “Will you check on Prince Rosario?” Treading strategically means protecting my heir.

She reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze. “Of course. Please be careful.” She doesn’t let go until I squeeze back.

Hector and I hurry into the hallway and immediately stop short. Soldiers pour from an adjoining corridor and run off ahead of us, a cacophony of clanking armor and creaking leather. They wear the plain cloaks of palace garrison—General Luz-Manuel’s men. “Hector? What—”

“I have no idea.” But he draws his sword.

Another group approaches from behind, and we step aside to let them pass. They move with such haste that they fail to notice their queen staring at them as they go by.

The soldier bringing up the rear is a little younger, a little shorter than the others. I grab him by the collar and yank him backward. He whips his sword around to defend himself, but Hector blocks him neatly. My ears ring from the clash of steel on steel, but I manage not to flinch.

The soldier’s face blanches when he recognizes me. “Your Majesty! I’m so sorry. I didn’t see . . .” He drops to his knee and bows his head. Hector does not lower his sword.

“Where are you going?” I demand.

“The main gate, Your Majesty.”

“Why?”

“We are under siege.”

Hector and I exchange a startled glance. It must be the Inviernos. How did they sneak into the city unnoticed? How could so many—

“The citizens of Brisadulce are rioting,” the soldier adds.

Oh, God.
“You mean we’re defending the palace against
our own people
? Tell me who gave the order to lock down the palace.”

He folds in on himself a little. “It—it was Lord-Conde Eduardo.”

“By sealed message or in person?” Hector asks, and it takes me a moment to understand: If it was a sealed message, the parchment might still exist.

“His adviser, Franco, relayed the message.”

Franco
. I’ve made it a point to memorize the names and positions of every person in my court, but I don’t recognize this one.

“I require your escort to the palace gate,” I tell him as Hector nods approval. “Quickly.” I gesture for him to lead the way, preferring Hector at my back, and lift my skirts to keep pace.

The dusty yard teems with palace garrison—archers up along the palace wall, light infantry in a row, ten paces back from the gate. Spearmen stand at the portcullis, swatting at grappling hands with their spear points, barking warnings to the people on the other side. From the swelling noise, the crowd has at least tripled.

“Thank you,” I tell the young soldier. “You may join your company.” He bows and flees.

Hector points to the wall above the gate, to a space between crenellations. “It’s Conde Eduardo.”

Sure enough, a figure stands tall, hands on hips, observing the crowd beyond.

“Let’s go.”

Hector bellows, “Make way for the queen!”

Soldiers scurry out of the way as we rush forward and take the stairs to the top of the wall two at a time.

The conde’s eyes widen slightly as I approach, but a blanket of composure drops across his features quickly. He’s an almost-handsome man with broad shoulders, sharp eyes, and a black close-cropped beard that cedes to gray along his temples. “You shouldn’t be here, Your Majesty,” he says. “It isn’t safe for you.”

“Did you order the palace lockdown?” I ask, breathless from the quick climb.

“No. The mayordomo did.”

I peer into the conde’s face, trying to read any deception or nervousness there, but he is as preternaturally calm as always.

“I want the gate opened,” I tell him.

“I’m not sure that’s a good—”

“They’re
our
people. Not our enemies.”

“They’re panicked. Panicked people do horrible things.”

“Like dropping the gate against those we’re supposed to protect?”

His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath. He leans forward, eyes narrowed, and I resist the urge to flinch away.
Do not back down, Elisa.
Below, the mob has quieted. They have no doubt spotted me. They’re waiting to see what I’ll do.

Finally the conde straightens. “As Your Majesty wishes,” he says.

I lift my chin to address the command toward the crowd. “The citizens of Brisadulce are most welcome. Raise the gate!”

The cry echoes throughout the yard. Gears shriek as the portcullis grinds upward. The garrison soldiers make way as the people of my city rush into the yard. But the initial panic blows itself out quickly, and after a moment, everyone filters through with orderly haste. My shoulders sag with relief. Until this moment, I was only
mostly
sure of my decision.

If the conde has a reaction to the quieting crowd, he does not show it, “There is much to discuss regarding today’s events,” he says.

“Indeed,” I agree with equal calm. “I’m calling an emergency meeting of the Quorum.”

He bows from the waist, then turns on his heel and strides away along the wall.

I watch him go, wondering about the flicker on his face when he first saw me, at his hesitation to follow my orders. Then I turn my back on him and the crowd gathering in the courtyard to look out over my city. I need to feel wide-open space, cleaner air.

I sense Hector beside me. He leans his elbows onto the wall so that our shoulders almost touch, and he says, “This is your first major crisis as sole monarch. You are weathering it well.”

“Thank you.” But I clutch the wall’s edge with misgiving. I gaze out across the flat rooftops of Brisadulce. They hug the downslope like massive adobe stairs, lush with garden plants and trellises. Beyond them, the ocean horizon stretches and curves, as though someone has thumb-smeared the bottom of the sky with indigo paint. “Hector, you know how when clouds roll across the sky, everyone turns an eye toward the docks to see if the water will leap over them and flood the streets? To see if the coming storm is actually a hurricane?”

“Yes.”

“I fear that’s what this is. Merely the heralding surge.”

Chapter 3

I
hate Quorum meetings.

Calling one is the right thing to do; we must deal with this incident decisively. But the lord-general and the lord-conde have been in power for decades. I’m the upstart—a seventeen-year-old queen reigning by royal decree rather than inheritance. On a good day, they talk over me as if I’m not there. On a bad one, I feel like a pesky sand chigger in danger of a swift swatting.

I’m the last to arrive. My entourage of ladies and guards stops at the threshold, for only Quorum members are allowed inside. Mara forces an encouraging smile as I swing the huge double doors shut and slide the bolt home to lock us in.

The Quorum chamber is low ceilinged and windowless, like a tomb. Candles flicker from sconces set in dusty mortar between gray stones. A squat oak table fills the center, surrounded by red cushions. The air is thick with unyielding silence, and I feel as though the ghosts of weighty decisions and secret councils press in around me, telling me to hush.

Hector is already seated on his cushion, looking stern. We always arrive separately, for it would be gauche to flaunt our close association. He lifts his chin in cold greeting, giving no hint that there is any warmth between us.

General Luz-Manuel, commander of my army, rises to welcome me, but his smile does not reach his eyes. He’s a small, hunched man, unimposing enough that his rise to military prominence seems puzzling. Because of this, I know better than to underestimate him.

“You were right to call this meeting, Your Majesty,” he says.

Beside him sits Lady Jada, who clasps her hands together and smiles as if in raptures. “Oh, Your Majesty, I’m so delighted the lord-general invited me again!”

I blink at her, marveling at her seeming unawareness of the moment’s gravity. Jada is wife to Brisadulce’s mayor and a temporary addition to the Quorum. We have been minus a member since I allowed the eastern holdings to secede, but we dare not meet with fewer than five, the holy number of perfection. Lady Jada is neither clever nor interesting, and therefore an unintimidating choice until we decide on a permanent replacement.

“I’m delighted you accepted,” I tell her sincerely.

Conde Eduardo bows his head in greeting, then calls the meeting to order by quoting God’s own words from the
Scriptura Sancta
: “Wherever five are gathered, there am I in their midst.”

I settle onto a cushion at the head of the table.

The conde continues, his voice grave. “It concerns me deeply that an animagus could creep into our city unnoticed, much less climb to the top of the amphitheater. And his demand that we give the queen over to Invierne—”

“Is an empty threat,” Hector says. “They were beaten badly. Her Majesty destroyed nine of their sorcerers that day.”

“And yet one remained,” says General Luz-Manuel. “Who knows how many others lurk in our city? How many more in their mountains? He claimed their population to be more numerous than the desert sands. Could they launch another army at us, even bigger than the last? We would not survive another such onslaught.”

Hector frowns. “You don’t actually believe we should give in to their demand, do you?”

I shift on my cushion, dreading the general’s response.

After an awkward hesitation, he says, “Of course not.”

“We should attempt some kind of diplomacy,” Eduardo says. “Our greatest weakness has ever been that we know so little about them. And I’m sure our queen could charm them—”

“Their ambassadors were never forthcoming.” I jump in, mostly because I’m already sick of being talked over as if I’m not here. “Short of sending a delegation to Invierne, I don’t know how we’ll find out what we need to know. But they always refused offers of a return delegation from my father.”

“It was the same here,” Hector says. “King Alejandro offered delegations several times, only to be rebuffed.”

I know what my sister, Crown Princess Alodia, would counsel. “We need spies,” I say.

General Luz-Manuel shakes his head. “We can’t outfit spies over such a long distance. There’s nothing left in the coffers. And we’d have no way of communicating with them. It’s too far, even for pigeons.”

The helpless expression on everyone’s face makes the chamber feel even tighter, even hotter. I wish I’d brought a fan with me.

“We have a more immediate problem,” Conde Eduardo says. “Five months after the Battle of Brisadulce, our nation was finally beginning to heal. This is a terrible blow. Several people were killed today in the ensuing chaos.”

My heart drops into my stomach. I remember the panic, the crowd, the runaway carriage. I hadn’t realized people were dying around me. Maybe that was the Inviernos’ plan all along, to frighten us into hurting ourselves.

Conde Eduardo adds, “Some misguided souls may even call for the queen’s head.”

“Surely not!” Lady Jada protests.

The conde shrugs. “If they believe giving Her Majesty over to Invierne will save their brothers and sons and wives, they will demand it be done. You saw how they nearly stormed the palace this morning.”

The same people who cheered me along the parade, who chanted my name and hailed me as a hero. Ximena was right.

Lady Jada turns to me. “Can’t you just”—she makes an obscure gesture with one hand—“do something with your Godstone? Defeat them like last time?”

I wilt a little on my cushion. “If only I could, my lady. I had an amulet then, and several old stones from long-dead bearers. Now I’ve only my own. Father Nicandro and I are working together to figure out how to channel its power.” I choose not to mention that, aside from bringing a warm glow to the stone, I’ve accomplished nothing.

General Luz-Manuel leans forward, eyes gleaming. “I have an idea.” He is a consummate politician, and he allows an exactly perfect stretch of silence before adding, “Your Majesty, we must discuss the issue of your regency.”

I wipe my suddenly sweating palms on my knees. “I am not the prince’s regent,” I tell him, pretending to misunderstand. “It is wholly my choice whether or not to hand the throne over to Rosario when he comes of age. The king named me his unequivocal heir and Queen
Regnant
.” I’m proud of my steady voice.

“The king was on his deathbed and suffering tremendously, perhaps not in his right mind. You are so young, Your Majesty; not yet come of age yourself. And foreign. Many doubt your worthiness to rule. Add to that today’s terrifying incident, and you must consider that
you
need a regent. It would go a long way toward assuring the populace.”

I do my best not to gape at him. “I fought for this nation as one born to it!”

He nods solemnly. “What you did was an important part of the whole effort.” I curl my hands into fists against the condescension in his voice. “But you have difficult decisions coming up, like raising taxes to support rebuilding efforts. You will find that when people are tightening their belts, your heroics won’t matter. They will blame you, Your Majesty, and you alone. They’ll demand we hand you over to our enemy.”

I knew my Quorum held little respect for me. But I didn’t anticipate this. And his words cut hard because he is right. I am a child, and an inexperienced one. Leading a small desert rebellion, defeating Invierne’s animagi with my Godstone—these things were impressive, certainly. But they were nothing like ruling.

Lady Jada’s gaze shifts between the general and me, her eyes large and eager. She is a keen gossip, and I wonder if Luz-Manuel invited her specifically in the hope that she would spread the idea of my regency. Or the
reason
for my proposed regency—that I can’t rule on my own.

Conde Eduardo stares into the distance, rubbing at his close-cropped beard. Finally he says, “There is another way.” He leans his elbows onto the table and stares at each Quorum member in turn, settling finally on me. “My dear queen, it is time for you to choose a husband.”

Ah, so that’s it
. The regency discussion was simply meant to introduce marriage as the more palatable alternative. They probably worked it out between themselves ahead of time.

“Oh, yes!” says Jada. “Someone whose counsel is widely respected. Everyone would accept your queenship with a strong prince consort at your side, even given today’s events.”

Softly Hector says, “The king has only been dead five months.”

“The queen is beyond the ceremonial mourning period,” Conde Eduardo says with a shrug. He turns to me. “I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but our nation suffered weak rule under Alejandro and Nicolao. We were coming apart at the seams even before the war. Your Majesty, I beg you to put your people first. Please choose either a regent or a strong husband, and bring the stability we so desperately need.”

“You would gain the most political advantage by choosing someone from the northern holdings,” the general adds. “The north bore the brunt of the war.”

“I’ll compile an eligibility list,” Lady Jada says. “We can look over it at our next meeting. Lord Liano of Altapalma comes to mind. And of course Conde Tristán of Selvarica, who is a southern lord but should not be discounted. Also . . .”

I can’t bear to pay attention as Jada prattles on about every lordling in the entire kingdom. I’ve known for a while that I would marry for the good of Joya d’Arena. But now, faced with the prospect, I don’t want to. I want to love someone again, the way I loved Humberto, or at the very least share a friendship, as Alejandro and I did in the end.

And I want to be queen of this great country not because someone is holding my hand, but because
I
can do it. Me. Elisa.

But I agree to look at Lady Jada’s list at our next meeting, because I don’t know what else to do or say. If nothing else, it buys me time to consider my options.

Our conversation moves to reconstruction. Whole villages along the desert caravan route still lie in ruins after the enemy’s march. The cost to clean and rebuild is becoming enormous. The highway through Puerto Verde is near impassable after several years of unusually bad weather. The tanners’ and weavers’ guilds are close to rioting over the shortage of hide and wool, now that the seceded country of Basajuan is no longer forced to trade sheep with the capital.

The nation is in shambles. Though we won the war, our coffers are drained, our army weakened, our people dispirited. Today’s birthday parade was supposed to inspire hope, to demonstrate the safe normalcy our lives were returning to.

My ridiculous crown grows unbearable as I ponder the centuries of rulers who came before me and sat in this same room, at this same table. Did any of them inherit a mess this big? Were any of them mere children, like me?

I can’t mask my relief when our meeting is over. I rise stiffly and thank everyone for coming; then Hector releases the bolt and opens the door. I bask in the fresher air that hits my face.

Once outside, my ladies press close. I yank off my crown and fling it at Ximena. Mara mops sweat along my hairline with a cloth and fluffs my skirt.

I say, “I need to walk.” Mostly, I need to
think,
away from watchful eyes and weighty problems.

They clear a path, and Hector steps up to accompany me.

I shake my head. “I need to go alone.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“I’ll just be a few minutes,” I assure him. “I’m going to the catacombs to pray. I’ll only walk where our own guards patrol. Come looking for me if I’m not back when the monastery bells ring the hour.”

He reaches up as if to grasp my arm, but then changes his mind and lowers his hand. “Be wary, my queen.”

I smile assurance, and then I’m off, away from the crowd.

The cobblestones beneath my feet are worn smooth, for Brisadulce was built almost two thousand years ago, after God scooped up our ancestors from the dying world with his righteous right hand and deposited them onto this one.

As I walk, I run a finger along the rough stone wall, taking comfort in its solidness. I imagine the palace and its ancient capital, sprawling across its peninsula of limestone, surrounded by ocean on three sides and desert on one. My new home is such a determined place, unchanging despite being hemmed in by things that pound it with deadly sandstorms and hurricanes for a season each year, and the rest of the time are merely fluid and forceful.

The city’s salvation is its underbelly. My old tutor used to tell me that long ago, before people arrived, our great sand desert was an inland sea. Something cataclysmic happened to drive all that water deep underground. Now it rushes out to meet the ocean in the caverns beneath my feet, providing plenty of fresh water for the beautiful oasis that is my capital city.

The catacombs, which were built to take advantage of the natural water-formed caverns, are my favorite place to find solitude.

The guard at the entrance is not surprised to see me. He greets me with a bow and a smile. “Glad to see you back safely, Your Majesty,” he says. “I heard what happened.”

“Thank you, Martín.” But I don’t want to talk about that. “How is your wife?”

He is one of the youngest among the Royal Guard, and it’s hard to believe that someone barely older than me could be married and expecting a child already. “Approaching her ninth month of pregnancy. And cursing the desert heat every day.” He lifts a torch from a wall sconce and hands it over. Martín’s grin turns sheepish. “If it’s a girl, she wants to name her Elisa.”