Cosmé holds up a hand to silence him. “I want full ruling autonomy,” she says softly.
I’m careful to keep my surge of triumph from showing on my face. “I make no promises. I require total fealty so I can make very fast decisions in the coming months. I can say that I’ll try not to interfere. I’ve no interest in meddling in daily affairs.”
Cosmé plunks into the nearest chair and lets her face fall into her hands. “Everything I’ve fought for. Everything I’ve accomplished. All for nothing.”
“No,” I protest. “Basajuan is still yours. You’ll still be its queen. I swear it.”
Alodia is stiff in the space beside us, her arms crossed. “I assume Joya would require an annual tithe?” she says.
I nod. “In return, I’ll station garrisons along your border at my own expense. I’m willing to reduce the first year’s take to five percent, if paid in sheep’s hides.” There. That ought to mollify the tanners’ guild, which has been suffering the shortage ever since Basajuan seceded.
My sister turns her back to me. Such a familiar gesture. A year or so ago, I would have thought myself the object of her contempt, not worthy to be faced. But I see the truth of it now. She hates looking vulnerable in front of anyone, but especially in front of me.
“They will take Basajuan,” I say softly to her back. “They will do it today. Then they will use Basajuan as a base to launch an army at Orovalle. They’ll come for me last, when they are strong again. I can’t hold off a whole army. I’m only one person, and I can’t defend every approach at once. Swear fealty to me, Alodia. This is my one chance, my only chance, to protect us all at the same time. And Invierne will know forever after that attacking any one of us will result in severe retaliation.”
“I want an addendum,” Cosmé says. “Separate from the document you show the Inviernos, stating that our fealty is contingent upon you being able to keep your word.”
Alodia turns back around. Her face is blanched, her eyes dull with weariness. “Yes,” she says. “An addendum. Elisa, if you can drive the Inviernos away and ensure peace, you can have your empire.”
I almost wilt with relief. I gesture toward the man still feverishly scribbling at the table. “Mr. Secretary,” I say. “Write this down.”
I dictate a short missive, proclaiming myself empress of the Joyan Empire, vowing to serve and protect our treasured kingdoms of Joya d’Arena, Orovalle, and Basajuan. Then Cosmé and Alodia each dictate a paragraph swearing utter fealty. We sign, seal, and stamp it. The secretary hurriedly scribes two copies, and we sign, seal, and stamp those too.
Cosmé dictates the addendum, declaring my proclamation null and void should I fail to rid our three nations of the Invierno threat.
It all happens so fast, without trumpets or fanfare; the only thing that accompanies my rise to the highest possible station in the world is a general deflating of spirits.
The secretary shakes sand from one of the copies and blows on the remaining ink. I snap my fingers at him as the earth quakes again. “No time. Give it to me.”
He does, and I’m careful not to smear it, holding it out from my body. Alodia’s signature catches my eye. She has written “queen” beside her name and stamped the wax not with the seal of the crown princess, but with Papá’s own signet ring. Something unpleasant twists in my chest.
For years now, she has had authority to act in his stead, with all the rights and privileges due a fully empowered monarch. I thought it was because Papá favored her so much. Because she was being groomed to reign.
The parchment in my hand trembles. “Papá . . .” I say. “He’s . . . he’s gone, isn’t he?”
A muscle in her cheek twitches. “Last month,” she says. “I postponed my official coronation to come here.” Her voice is colorless; she might as well be reading a storeroom inventory list.
“He’s been sick a long time, hasn’t he?” It all makes sense now. How thin he became. Alodia’s growing responsibilities. The fact that he declined to attend my coronation.
“He lived longer than we expected.” Finally, there is a softening of her features, as her lips part and she casts her eyes downward. “He worked hard—right up until the point when he could no longer hold a quill in his hand.”
I want to rage at her. I want to throw a colossal fit, kicking and screaming and pummeling her with my fists. Why, why, why did you not tell me, Alodia?
But I already know the answer. They did not tell me anything. They didn’t tell me why they married me off to King Alejandro. Or that my nurse, Ximena, was a specially ordained guardian, trained to fight and kill. They worked especially hard to keep me ignorant of all matters pertaining to the Godstone. I had to figure everything out for myself. And though they’ve excused themselves by citing faith or love or “what’s best for you, Elisa,” I know differently.
They didn’t tell me any of these things because they didn’t think I could handle the truth.
I’d like to rage at Papá too. But I can’t. Now that I know I’ll never see him again, I can acknowledge the hope I’ve harbored, the silly thought that maybe, after defeating the Invierne army and releasing the power of my Godstone, after stopping a civil war and learning to rule in my own right, we’d meet again and he would say, “I’m proud of you, Elisa. Well done.” Then he would hug me and tell everyone, “My daughter Elisa is better than two sons!” And I would know that I was just as dear to him as Alodia.
Such silly hopes. Now, even if I save the world, he’ll never know.
“Elisa?” My sister starts toward me, one hand half raised.
I turn my back on her. “Storm, Hector, with me. And Cosmé—I’ll need you to order the gates opened. The rest of you stay here.” We’re halfway to the door when an unbidden prayer for safety and luck springs to my lips, but I tamp it down. The Deciregi may not know that I’m here yet. It should be an interesting surprise.
When I’m in the doorway, I turn around and say to my roomful of new vassals: “Pray for me.”
33
HECTOR knows the palace well, for he held it under martial law for several days while we deposed Cosmé’s father, Conde Treviño. He rushes us through the corridors, never hesitating, and I follow without question.
We burst into sunshine. The courtyard teems with soldiers carrying buckets of water and quivers of arrows to the wall. There’s an order to the chaos, with organized lines and officers stationed at regular intervals barking orders to their men.
The portcullis is lowered, and behind it, the huge wooden double doors are shut and barred. They rattle every few moments with another impact. Smoke curls through the crease.
“Now, Cosmé,” I say.
“Oh, God, Elisa, are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” I’m sure I’m going to try.
She takes a deep breath and yells, “Raise the portcullis and open the gate!”
“Storm, Hector, stay near so I can keep the barrier over us all.” They close in at my shoulders. I plant my feet, reach with my awareness into the depths of the earth.
Hector bends and presses a kiss to my temple. He wastes precious moments holding his lips there, and then says, “For just in case.”
Cosmé repeats her command, because no one can believe she would want to do such a thing, but she does, and they do, and the doors open wide to reveal a smoke-hazed landscape of rubble and charred buildings.
The Deciregi face me, all eight of them in a phalanx formation. I allow myself a small surge of satisfaction at the surprise on their perfect faces. Arrayed behind them are dozens of lesser animagi. All are surrounded by robed, barefooted acolytes. Other acolytes lie crumpled on the ground, wide-eyed but sightless, blood pooling beneath their slit throats. Willing sacrifices.