I take him to mean an agreement between us is impossible, but then he adds, “They’re gone. Every single one.” He looks down at Hawk, and his metal-gloved hand reaches up to stroke her hair. It’s the tiniest gesture, but I twinge with discomfort, as if I’m witness to a very private moment. Pine whispers, “We are the only two left.”
“What are you talking about?” Storm demands. “Where did they go?”
Pine looks at me, dead-on. “We were betrayed. Months ago, we agreed as a council to lure you here. To capture you and make you our living sacrifice. But the others conspired in secret. Their plan was to lure you here as a distraction.”
“Oh, no.” My stomach churns, and my heart begins to beat erratically.
“Yes. The other eight Deciregi remain bent on avenging our people. The moment we reported that we had captured you, they left for Basajuan. They took their sworn animagi with them, even their acolytes. They will conquer Basajuan easily without you there to interfere. I wouldn’t be surprised if they razed it to the ground.”
Mara gasp echoes my own horror. Cosmé. Jacián. All our friends.
My sister might be there by now too. Alodia will have brought a diplomatic escort, not a military one. Cosmé has been building her garrison since becoming queen, but it is not yet at full strength. Even if it was, no army could hold back all the animagi of Umbra de Deus, led by the most powerful sorcerers in the world. And once Basajuan falls, Orovalle and Joya d’Arena will quickly follow.
A hand settles on my shoulder, and Hector says, “Elisa, we must go now.”
I nod, but to Pine I say, “Will you let us leave? On the understanding that I will do what I can to save your people and bring you to the zafira?”
He winces. “Yes.”
“Your Eminence, do know that if I make it back to Basajuan in time to save it, I may destroy the Deciregi. You two might be the only ones left. And if that happens—”
Pine and Hawk are already nodding. “Yes, yes,” Pine says. “We will discuss terms. You leave us no choice.”
“I plan to offer full access and safe passage through my country in exchange for a cessation of hostilities, utter compliance with the laws of my land while in it, reinstitution of Storm as your heir, and . . .” The idea hits, and I almost gasp at its pure simplicity. “And a marriage union between a prince or princess of Invierne and the match of my choosing.”
A slow smile breaks over Pine’s face, revealing pointed teeth and deep self-satisfaction. “I’m sure my son will be delighted to do his duty and marry whomever you choose.”
My return smile is just as smug. He thinks he has trapped me by offering up someone he views as expendable, but he has played right into my hands. “I accept! I promise to make a good marriage for him.”
Storm is staring at me, his green eyes wide with horror.
“Will you guarantee us safe passage out of Umbra de Deus?” Hector asks.
Hawk shrugs with seeming nonchalance and says, “We probably could not stop you. We are no match for one whom even the Eyes of God obey. And without our living sacrifice, our own power is a shadow of what it was.”
I study her, trying to parse what she’s not saying. “I’ll repeat the Lord-Commander’s question. Will you guarantee us safe passage out of Umbra de Deus? A yes or no will suffice.”
Pine frowns. “Yes.”
“And will you promise not to pursue us as we travel to Basajuan?”
“I promise.”
“You promise what?”
“I promise that I will not pursue you as you travel to Basajuan.”
“Will you pursue any of my companions or anything that we carry?”
“No.”
“Will you send someone else to pursue us on your behalf? Or will you inform someone so that they can pursue on their own behalf?”
“No.”
“And will you stop anyone who tries to pursue us?”
“N—Yes. Yes, I will.”
As we grab torches and enter the tunnel leading to Crooked Sequoia House, Storm sidles up to me and says, “You have learned to bargain like an Invierno.”
“Storm, about that marriage agreement—”
“I am your loyal subject.”
23
WE leave the city escorted by Pine’s own guards. We are not disguised this time, and everyone stares as we pass on the road. They give us a wide berth and whisper to one another as our carriage rattles along, not just because we are foreign, but because of the dangerous speed at which we travel their winding, narrow highway. Or maybe because of the ash still floating down from the sky. It mixes with light rain and turns to thick sludge, collecting on every street and rooftop.
Storm’s sister, Waterfall, accompanies us. At the last moment, the Deciregus decided he wanted an additional representative in our party—on “the unlikely possibility” that we are successful in saving Basajuan and will indeed be able to parlay.
He wants a spy, and I’m perfectly happy to comply. Waterfall will know exactly what I want her to know.
Pine provided us with fresh packs and supplies, and Hawk gave us warm, supple cloaks against the biting winter air. Near the edge of the city, we bought fur-lined gloves, a new pair of boots for Mula, and head scarves made of wolverine hair, which the vendor assured us would shed frost in any temperature. It’s surprisingly familiar; preparing for extreme cold is not so different from preparing for desert windstorms.
The other Deciregi have more than a day’s start, but Hector agrees that it is not an insurmountable lead. We might encounter them on the way. We might even arrive in Basajuan ahead of them. We will plan for both possibilities.
The ashy rain becomes snow as we turn off the highway and onto the mountain trail. The clouds are so low and dirty that they threaten to choke the tops of the pines. The icy air feels like tiny knife blades as I draw it into my lungs.
The thickening blanket of ash and snow makes the world unrecognizable, but Waterfall is able to guide us to the exact spot where she first encountered us. We climb the slippery slope and find the glade where we left our mounts. Two dark horses peppered with white shy away as we approach.
“It’s me, Horse,” I say in a soothing tone. “I told you I’d be back.”
At the sound of my voice, Horse whinnies and tosses her head. She trots forward eagerly, shoves her nose into my chest, and roots around for a treat. I laugh, running my fingers through her long forelock, surprised at how relieved I am to find her unharmed.
We saddle our horses and prepare to mount up. I haven’t needed help mounting Horse in a long time, but Hector insists on lifting me into the saddle, and I decide it’s all right to let him. Once I’m settled, his hand slides from my waist to linger on my thigh. I reach down to give it a squeeze.
With his free hand, he rubs at a nonexistent spot on my saddle and says in a muted voice, “I’m sorry I deliberated, even for a moment, about whether I should marry you. When you dropped into that pit, I . . .”
“Well, we’ll have no more of such foolishness,” I say harshly, to cover the wavering in my voice. “We’re getting married, and that’s that.”
He flashes me a quick grin, squeezes my knee, and steps away to mount his own horse. I stare after him, at his broad shoulders and the curling hair that has grown long enough to peek around his winter cowl. If I could skip the upcoming journey, the inevitable battle, even the wedding, just to get to the marriage part, I would do it. I never want to say good-bye to him again.
We ride against the wind, seven of us now, heads bowed over the necks of our sturdy mountain horses. Soon the snow is deep enough to cover our horses’ fetlocks. The ash clouds cause night to fall early, and we are forced to stop too soon.
We make camp at the base of a cliff, so that the wall traps the warmth of our campfire and reflects it back. It is nearly impossible to hammer our tent pegs into the frozen ground, but we do it. Fortunately, the tents are steeply pitched, and snow only collects a little before sliding off and tumbling to the ground in great puffs.