Authors: Jenny Lundquist
But what will the cost be to Wilha?
I roll over and look up at the stars. How will she feel when she finds out her entire world has been built on yet another lie? That really, the name she has carried these last seventeen years is essentially mine?
Chapter 45
Wilha
I
t has been two weeks since I returned from my meeting with Andrei. Two weeks of waiting for Elara to slip from Allegria’s grip. She and Rolf arrive late one night after everyone has retired for the evening. I hear Lord Nichols show
her into the room across from my own. They murmur qui
etly, and I assume he is informing her of the guest who arrived just a few hours ago.
Once Lord Nichols has excused himself, I open my door cautiously. I should wait to speak to Elara until the morning, but I have stewed for days trying to figure out how to convince her to agree to a meeting with Andrei.
Elara’s door is cracked open a couple inches, and it creaks as I step inside the room. “I am sorry to disturb you. I wanted to see how you were—” I bring a hand to my mouth when I see her. Elara sits in an armchair, looking tiredly at a yellowed piece of parchment she holds, but her long tresses . . . they’ve been sheared off. “Why did you cut your hair?”
“Because the guards were looking for a girl, not a boy,” she says shortly, folding up the parchment.
“I see.” Truly, my sister is a force to be reckoned with. “Well . . . I wanted to tell you something, but also I . . . I just wanted to say I was sorry. For leaving you behind in the city, I mean. I swear to you I tried to stop Lord Royce, but . . .”
A strange look crosses Elara’s face and she glances again at the parchment, before leaning over and deftly sliding it into a writing desk. “It seems our family is filled with women unable to stand up to the men around them.”
I open my mouth to protest, but she continues, “You did more than just leave me behind, though, didn’t you? You decided you wanted the crown for yourself—or half of it, anyway.”
“I wanted—I
do
want—what is best for everyone,” I say carefully, realizing I should have expected her anger. “I never meant to wrong you, Elara, but I really believe that right now sharing the crown is best for all.”
“So springing that on me while you gave your speech was the best option, then? You don’t think you might’ve found the time to tell me that
before
we walked into the opera house?”
“There
are
no good options right now, Elara. I tried to talk to you numerous times—”
“You should have tried harder. You should have untied that faltering tongue of yours for once and—”
“But that’s just it. Next to you, my voice has seemed slight and inconsequential. You are braver than I am, and you always know what to say, and many days I wish I was more like you. But that does
not
mean I will quietly stand by while you and Lord Royce decide my future—as well as the future of this entire kingdom.”
“All I expected,” Elara says, “was that you—”
“Was that I would be obedient!” I say, my voice rising. “You have ridiculed me for being too obedient, too weak, when I was a child, but the
minute you decided you wanted to be queen you required that same obedience. I am sorry for the way things happened, Elara, I truly am. But it is time you finally understood that even if I am different than you, I have my own will, and I shall not always bend it to yours—nor am I convinced that you and Lord Royce alone are the answer to our kingdom’s problems. So . . .
yes
! I want the crown—or half of it, like you said.”
By the time I finish speaking, I am standing and my fists are clenched. Elara is staring up at me in shock.
“That was remarkably articulate,” she says after a moment.
“Thank you.” I take a deep breath and try to calm myself. I had intended to apologize to my sister, not start shouting at her. “And I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have just barged in on you so late. Perhaps tomorrow we can speak more about what joint rulership”—I break off as her eyes stray again to the writing desk. “What was that letter you were reading? You keep looking at it.”
“It’s . . . nothing I want to talk about tonight.” She leans back in her chair and rubs her temples. “Didn’t you come in here because you said you had something you wanted to tell me?”
“We can discuss it later.” After all the things I just said, I should probably find another time to talk to her about Andrei. “It’s not that important,” I say as I head for the door.
“You’re a terrible liar, Wilha—and I’m not saying that to ridicule you. I can tell something’s bothering you. What is it?”
Hesitantly, I turn back and sit down. I’ve come too far not to talk to her now. “I was just thinking . . . what would you say if we could arrange a meeting with Andrei? Just the three of us?”
“I’d say it’s an excellent idea.”
I pause. “Really?”
“Yes.” Her face breaks into a wicked grin. “Then we could capture him and hand him over to the villagers. Let him experience their poverty—and their anger—firsthand.”
My stomach curdles at the gleeful tone in her voice. “Elara, I don’t think Andrei has very much power these days. He’s—”
“He’s hunting us!” she bursts out. “He’s been hunting
me
since the moment he became king, Wilha—and it feels like you don’t care about any of that. You yell at me for not listening to you more . . . but are you at all interested in what
my
life has been like for these last few weeks?” A watery glint appears in her eyes. “While you and Lord Royce were reclining here in the country, I was stuck in the city hoping I wouldn’t be found by Andrei—the same brother you expect me to try to understand.”
I silently reach out and take her hand. “I do care, Elara. Sometimes you just seem so much tougher than I am, like you could survive anything. I did not mean to be callous.”
“Yeah, well”—she casts a quick glance over to the writing desk—“you would’ve learned how to be tough, too, if you’d grown up with the Ogdens.”
“I would love to know what it was like for you growing up in Tulan,” I say. “But every time I have asked, you are curt, as though I am a nuisance. And I must confess, sometimes it seems to me as though I disgust you.” I swallow nervously. “I am used to people not liking me, Elara. But for my part, I want to be your friend, as well as your sister. I have always wanted that.”
Elara looks down at our twined hands. “I haven’t had a lot of friends in my life,” she says.
“Neither have I. The noblegirls were always afraid I would rip off my mask and curse them.”
At that, we both laugh quietly. “Idiots,” Elara says. “You should have told them you
would
curse them, if they didn’t do what you wanted.”
“Maybe I should have,” I say, laughing. “But tomorrow, do you think we could spend time together? Without anyone else around? I think we have a lot to talk about.”
“I would like that a lot,” she says.
“Maybe after we are finished meeting with Stefan tomorrow, we can—”
“Stefan?” Her eyes widen. “He’s
here
? In the manor?”
“Yes, he arrived a few hours ago. I had assumed Lord Nichols already told you?”
She shakes her head. “He must have forgotten—but can we talk more tomorrow? I’d like to get something to eat.” She stands up to head for the door, all traces of her earlier tiredness seemingly vanished. “Unless”—she turns back quickly—“did you have more you wanted to say?”
I can tell she’s trying so hard to be patient, when I know she wants more than anything to see Stefan. And I don’t want to ruin this moment with my sister, not even for Andrei. Not when it feels like this is one of the first times we’ve truly heard each other.
“No,” I say. “It can wait until tomorrow.”
Chapter 46
Elara
I
hurry from the room, feeling hollow and wrung out from my conversation with Wilha. I want to find a way to know my sister and truly become her friend, but how can I do that when it feels as though there’s so much that divides us? She couldn’t have been serious about meeting with Andrei. Has she forgotten his cunning and cruelty? It’s a meeting we’d likely never return from.
But despite all that I’m looking forward to talking with
Wilha more; and I resolve to be more patient with
her tomorrow.
In the kitchen, Stefan sits cross-legged on a thick rug and faces the fire. The planes of his face are hardened, and sunk in shadow. It’s been a while since I was able to truly just look at him, and my insides melt a bit at the brooding look on his face.
“It’s a little warm for a fire tonight, isn’t it?” I say, stepping closer to him.
Stefan glances over, not looking terribly surprised to see me, before turning back to the flames. “It helps me think,” he says. “And I never expected I would be able to sleep tonight.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
“It’s not what
has
happened, it’s what has not.” He turns to me. “Do you really not remember what day it is?”
At his stricken look, I do.
“Today should have been our wedding,” I say, and my heart aches for what we’ve lost. What I ruined.
“Well . . . not
our
wedding, I suppose. Mine and Wilha-mina Andewyn’s. But nevertheless.” He turns back to the fire. “It should have been a happy day, indeed.”
“Stefan, I’m sorry I forgot. I just . . . I’ve had a lot on my mind and . . .” I flounder about, trying to figure out how to erase the hurt on his face, when my stomach makes a loud, and decidedly unfeminine, grumbling sound.
“Are you hungry?” He picks up a wooden bowl next to him and gestures to the rug. “Sit,” he says, handing me the bowl. It’s full of warm broth, and hope rises as I settle next to
him. Was he hoping I would come to the kitchen tonight? Is that why he had the broth ready?
Stefan’s eyes sweep over my face. “I see you favor short hair now.”
I bring a hand to my head. “It was the price I had to pay to get out of the city.”
“It was well spent.” His brows knit together. “I was worried, actually, when I arrived and saw you weren’t here yet. If I had known it would take them so long to get you out of the city, I might have demanded you stay with me.”
“Maybe I should have,” I say, thinking of Alinda’s wails, and the rotting stench of the butcher’s shop. “Maybe that would have been for the best, after all.”
We both sit silently for a while, watching the fire while I sip the broth. The room feels heavy with enough regret to fill the entire kingdom.
“What has been preoccupying you so?” Stefan says when I’ve put the bowl aside.
“A number of things,” I say. “But I don’t want to talk about my family or palace politics tonight.” I lean back and settle more comfortably onto the rug. “Tulan, the village I grew up in, is only a few hours’ ride from here. I sent a letter to Cordon—do you remember me telling you about him?” I say, and he nods. “I offered to send him and the Ogdens worthings. Lord Royce told me months ago that Mistress was ailing.” I shrug. “I guess I just thought I could help somehow.”
“That is very kind of you,” he says softly. “Kinder, I suspect, than she would have treated you. Mistress is the woman from your stories, is she not?”
“Yes, I was sent to live with her when I was a small child. I loved her once, I think, when I was young—too young to realize how much she hated me.”
Stefan’s face is guarded. “How many of the stories you told me about her were true?”
I look away. “All of them. Since I could not tell you the truth, the stories were the most I could offer.”
“You promised me once you would tell me your whole story. We have a long night ahead of us, and I have little hope for sleep. So tell it to me now. All of it, from the very beginning.”
A lump forms in my throat. “Are you sure you want to hear it?”
“Yes,” he says quietly. “I really do.”
“Okay.” I take a deep breath, and know that I will tell him everything—except of the existence of Astrid’s letter.
Until I can decide what I want to do, her words are a secret I must keep.
Chapter 47
Elara
M
y cheeks are wet by the time I finish speaking. Stefan reaches out awkwardly, but then drops his hand. “After you escaped the castle, I wondered every day about you,” he says quietly. “Who you truly were, and the life you had led before I met you.”
“Can you forgive me, for all my lies?” I say, wiping my eyes.
“Forgiveness is more than just casually speaking a few words. True forgiveness is a concentrated act of the will and the heart.” He sighs. “I am doing the best I can, and in some ways, it feels like I have only truly met you tonight.”
I nod. “Thank you for listening. I know it’s more than I deserve.”
Hurried footsteps sound in the hall, and Patric bursts into the kitchen. “Put out the fire!”
Immediately, Stefan is up and dousing the flames. “What is it? What is going on?”
“Men were spotted sneaking onto the grounds,” he says, planting himself in front of the window. “I have sent guards to deal with them.”