We face a steady stream of oncoming traffic—hastily packed wagons, mothers carrying infants, and even a few shepherds driving small herds of sheep and goats—all fleeing the coming destruction. The masses of humanity and livestock force us to slow down, and I grit my teeth with frustration.
“Any sign of the Deciregi?” I ask Hector as we maneuver around a cartful of cages containing noisy, panicked chickens.
“Just their handiwork,” Hector says. “My guess is they will do an entire circuit of the city, close enough to cause panic, but far enough away to avoid the city archers.”
Which means they might be on the opposite side of the city by now. This is our chance to get inside unseen. “Basajuan’s wall is not defensively optimal,” I observe. “It’s low, with just a few watchtowers around the outskirts.”
“We should prepare to be stopped and questioned, though,” he says. “Especially with an Invierno traveling with us.”
I glance back at Storm. I grew accustomed to having him travel openly, for he caused little notice in the free villages. But once we crossed the divide, his passing was greeted with suspicious stares. So he flipped up his cowl and now he rides hunched over, trying to look inconspicuous. I’m suddenly grateful for the chill in the air. It gives him an excuse to wear that cloak.
But if we’re stopped at a guard tower, he is sure to be recognized as our ancient enemy.
I call up ahead. “Belén.”
He and Mara ride side by side. At my voice, they rein in their mounts and twist in the saddle.
When I catch up, I ask, “Do you know a way into the city from scouting for Cosmé?”
He grins. “Definitely.”
“Please tell me it doesn’t involve a cave or a sewer,” Mara says.
“No,” he says, and she breathes relief. “If we play it right, we can walk right through the front door of Cosmé’s palace.”
“That would be ideal,” I say.
“Several of your rebel Malficios joined Cosmé’s guard after you left,” Belén says. “I’ll ride ahead—a lone rider can get through this crowd a lot easier than all of us traveling together—and scout the towers, find someone who will recognize you on sight. Then we’ll send for Captain Jacián.”
Jacián! He helped steal me away from King Alejandro, then stayed by my side as I led the rebel Malficio. Another dear friend I have not seen in too long. I almost send up a prayer of gratitude, but I stop myself. The Deciregi are near and likely to sense whenever my Godstone is active.
“Do it,” I say. “And quickly.”
Belén spurs his horse on. We snack on late-harvest apples as we wait for him. Beyond the smoke and charred remains of the countryside, the city of Basajuan is beautiful, with rolling adobe buildings painted in bright pastels. It’s a lot like my home in Brisadulce, but its nestled location in the crook of two meeting mountain ranges makes it a little cooler, a little wetter, and the result is lush and colorful by comparison.
Hector has checked and rechecked his weapons. Now he fiddles with the saddlebag, taking items out, putting them back in again.
“You’re as bad at waiting as I am,” I observe.
He freezes in the midst of inspecting a water skin. “You’re right,” he says. “I’m accomplishing nothing. I don’t know how you manage it, though. Waiting on a horse. Unable to pace and bite your thumbnail.”
I shoot him a mock glare, but he doesn’t notice because his face has turned distant and grave. “This situation has the potential to go very badly.”
“Yes.”
“Not just for us,” he explains. “For the world. The Deciregi could not have known it when they planned their conquest of this city, but you, Crown Princess Alodia, and Queen Cosmé are going to be in the same place at the same time. They could eliminate you all in one stroke.”
I sigh, pulling back on my horse to make way for a woman and three barefoot children who are walking along the side of the road to avoid manure. “When I requested this meeting, it didn’t occur to me that I was creating a dangerous situation.” It was a rushed and painful moment. Franco had stolen Hector away, and I had just learned that Conde Eduardo was engineering a civil war. “But maybe it provides us with an opportunity too.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Maybe your sister ignored your summons,” he says. “Her Highness has a reputation for following no one’s counsel but her own. It might be a good thing if . . .” Something in my face makes him pause. “What is it?”
I open my mouth, close it, not sure what to say. It is the thing I’ve been forcing myself not to think about. It is the fact that I dread seeing Alodia again.
“Elisa?”
“I’m nervous!” I blurt. “I know it’s stupid. The world is burning down around us. I have to defeat the most powerful sorcerers in the world, only to dash back home and stop a civil war. Why do I even care about her? Why is it so important?” I avoid his gaze, embarrassed. “Hector, I’m afraid you’re marrying an idiot.”
He chuckles, and I snap my head up to glare at him, only to find his face full of empathy.
“I’m sure it did not escape your notice while we were aboard Felix’s ship,” he says, “but I admire my older brother greatly.” He leans forward, crossing his arms over the pommel of his horse, and peers at me with a self-deprecating grin. “I followed him around like a puppy until Alejandro brought me into his service. A disapproving word from Felix can still cut me to the quick—but don’t you dare tell him I said so.”
I gaze off toward the city, as the rightness of his words stick in my gut. I do want Alodia’s approval. Hers and Papá’s. And I’m disgusted with myself for wanting it. It still bothers me that they married me to a stranger and shipped me off. That they purposely kept me ignorant of essential knowledge pertaining to my Godstone. And when I finally became a queen in my own right, they didn’t even bother to attend my coronation.
“Alodia always wanted me to be better,” I say softly. “Different. And I spent most of my childhood actively not meeting her expectations.”
“I was there during the marriage negotiations between your father and Alejandro. Trust me, she cares for you very much.”
I’m not sure what to say to that.
“Alodia assured us you were destined for great things,” he adds. “She even quoted the prophecy, ‘And God raised up for himself a champion . . .’ Why are you shaking your head?”
“I don’t think I’ve fulfilled that prophecy. Not yet. Maybe not ever.”
He’s about to say something else, but Belén returns, weaving through traffic toward us. “Jacián himself is at the southeast tower,” he says breathlessly.
“What did they say? Have the animagi started attacking the city yet? Is my sister here?”
Belén is shaking his head. “I’m a traitor here, remember? That’s why Cosmé washed her hands of me and sent me to you. They would kill me on sight. We must take you before them.”
He can’t mask the pain in his voice. How hard must it be for him to return here? To see old friends and family, even an old lover, knowing they despise him for living when he should have died a traitor’s death?
Mara’s face is stony. She sits stiff and tall on her gray gelding, as if prepared for battle. I expect she won’t relax until Belén and Cosmé meet again and she can gauge for herself how things are between them.
“Let’s go.” And we ride forward, faces set with determination, all of us for different reasons.
The guard tower would hardly be called a tower by Brisadulce’s standards. It’s only three floors high, with a small eagle’s nest at its apex, where a crossbowman stands at the ready. We dismount from our horses and hand the reins to Mara. The rest of us stride right through the door and into a busy armory.