I lay on my back, conscious only of my chest heaving painfully with each breath. Dark clouds billowed over my head, bringing an acrid odor to my nostrils. And then I was sitting against the bow, and the boat was rocking under me, and the bridge—the bridge was on fire. Long red flames embraced the wooden railings with their blazing tongues raised to the sky. Behind the dark clouds of smoke that had already turned the day into night, Athos the golden moon was rising.
Down by the shore, the Suavian soldiers were still fighting. Who was in charge, I wondered, now that they had lost their king? There could only be one answer. If Don Alfonso were alive, he would have had to take command. It was too late for dreams of peace now. Our plan had failed.
Crying without tears, I grabbed the oars and, for the first time in my life, started rowing. Luckily, the current aided me and in spite of my awkward tries, we progressed rapidly down river, away from the deafening clamor of the battle.
It was not until the river took a sharp bend and hid the bridge from me that I allowed myself to stop. After securing the oars inside the boat, I crawled toward the king. Don Julián, his left shoulder pierced by an arrow, was lying on his back in the same position I had left him. I didn’t try to remove the shaft from his body, as I knew that without the proper care, he would bleed to death. Instead, I felt for his pulse. It was so slow and uncertain that I almost missed it.
“At least he has stopped bleeding,” I said aloud to reassure myself. But I remembered the blood running down his shirt as we struggled on the bridge, and how the water had turned red around his body as I held him. I wondered whether he had any blood left.
I shivered. Don Julián, his eyes closed, his tattered clothes drenched with water and blood, didn’t look impressive anymore. He didn’t look like the arrogant king I had grown to hate, but like a man weary after a long hunt. Besides, regardless of who he was or what I thought of him, I felt bound to him now because I had to reluctantly admit that he had saved my life.
But what could I do? I was not a doctor. As if in the memory of a dream, I heard in my mind a voice saying “doctor.” It was a male voice and very, very familiar. Suddenly I remembered. Tío Ramiro had said my mother had been a physician in her world. If it was true, she might be able to help Don Julián.
My mother and I were not exactly close. I resented her too much to trust her, but the fact remained that Don Julián was dying and that she was his only hope. Pushing back the panic that threatened to paralyze my will, I returned to the bench. Plunging the oars into the water, I started rowing toward my parents’ castle.
18
Mother
I rowed into the night, alone with my fears, the unconscious king a dark shape before the stern. I rowed away from the battle, but I could still hear the hissing of the arrows and the screams of the soldiers. I rowed and the splash of the oars splitting the water reminded me of the bodies falling from the bridge. Over and over I rowed, staring blankly at the water until my mind was empty.
Later, much later, the copper reflection of Lua on the water brought me back. It was a perfect half moon. Three more weeks until the full moon, I thought. And the memories returned. I remembered the world beyond the arch where I had met John. I remembered John and Rosa walking away from me in the bailey. And I remembered Father discussing the war with John.
At my feet Don Julián, who was still unconscious, moaned and jerked his arms. Don Julián, the enemy king. Careful not to rock the boat, I put the oars inside and crawled toward him. As I held his arms so he wouldn’t hurt himself, it dawned on me that my father’s victory was at hand. If he attacked now, before the Suavian army had time to recover from the loss of its king and today’s almost sure defeat, he would certainly win.
“Our House will win,” I said aloud. But the words only added to my distress. Disturbed by the unfamiliar feeling, I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, Don Julián was looking at me. “My people,” he muttered trying to sit up. “What happened?”
“Please, Sire, don’t move.” Or you’ll bleed to death, I thought but did not say. Avoiding his eyes so he wouldn’t read the despair in mine, I rested his body against the stern. Then I took the goatskin I had been carrying on my belt when I fell from the bridge and gave him some water.
“Thank you, Princess,” he whispered. His eyes were so close now, I could see my face in his pupils. To escape his blunt stare I moved away, leaning over the side to get more water. When I turned back, Don Julián, a knife in his hand, was sitting against the stern.
I froze. I had made many mistakes in my life, but this one topped them all. What kind of soldier forgets to take his prisoner’s weapons? I surely deserved to die. As water from the inverted goatskin spilled over my legs, I waited for Don Julián to make his move. Slowly, very slowly, the king lifted his hand and, hilt up, presented his knife to me. He was surrendering.
I sighed in relief and extended my arm, only to drop it again. Don Julián had saved my life by pushing me away from the arrow—the arrow that had pierced his shoulder. That he would be my prisoner because of his bravery did not seem right.
“No, Sire. I will not—”
The sudden clank of the knife hitting the wooden planks covered my words. Don Julián, his eyes closed, was struggling for balance. By the time I reached him, he was unconscious again.
I laid his body on the boards, and praying that he would not die on me, I returned to the seat and resumed my rowing. All night, as the boat drifted downriver, I battled with my conscience. By the time the familiar shape of Mount Pindo emerged through the mist, I had reached a decision: I would not hand Don Julián over to Father.
Dawn was breaking upstream over the green canopy of trees when the towers of my parents’ castle came into view. Over the keep, the tallest tower, there was no flag:The king was not in the castle. Taking that for a good omen, I steered the boat toward the riverbank. Then as soon as the hull touched bottom, I jumped into the shallow waters and dragged it ashore.
Bending over the hull, I took leave of Don Julián. “I am going to get help, Sire.” Don Julián did not move, and when I touched him, I realized he was burning with fever. I did not want to leave him alone, so totally defenseless. And yet what else could I do? Praying silently to the ancient gods of the Xarens for their protection, I turned away and started the steady ascent toward the castle.
Once again I climbed the ramparts, my dirty clothes blending with the ivy, my hands and feet searching for the holes and grips on the weatherworn stones. When I reached the top, I crawled onto the walkway through one of the battlement crenellations. No one was in sight, which suited me fine. And yet the absence of sentries bothered me. If Don Julián had finished the bridge and attacked the castle, he would have found a poor resistance. I should have been happy knowing the danger was over. But it wasn’t so simple. Men had died. I had seen them die, and that had changed everything.
I took a deep breath and concentrated on the moment. When I was sure no one was guarding the closest tower, I stole inside and ran down the spiral stairway, across the baileys, and into the garden. On the second level of the keep, the windows into Mother’s chambers were closed. On my right, over the eastern wall, I could see the sun rising. I did not have a moment to lose. Mother’s ladies-in-waiting would soon be sweeping into her room, and my chance to talk to her alone would be ruined.