The Beauty of Darkness (63 page)

A very long while.

I knew what was in it.

Something white.

Something beautiful.

Something that had been tossed out long ago.

“Jaxon?”

“No,” I said. “You can throw it away.”

 

 

Journey's end. The promise. The hope.

Gather close my brothers and sisters.

Today is the day a thousand dreams will be born.

We have touched the stars and the dust of possibility is ours.

For once upon a time, three women were family

As we are now, and they changed the world

With the same strength we have within us.

We are part of their story,

And a greater one that still lies ahead.

But the work is never over.

Time circles. Repeats.

And we must not only be ready,

For the enemy without,

But also the enemy within.

Though the Dragon rests for now,

He will wake again,

And roam the earth,

His belly ripe with hunger.

Lest we repeat our history,

Let the stories be passed

From father to son, from mother to daughter,

For with but one generation,

History and truth are lost forever.

And so shall it be,

Sisters of my heart,

Brothers of my soul,

Family of my flesh,

For evermore.

—The Song of Jezelia

 

CHAPTE
R
N
I
N
ETY

I tidied up the papers on my desk and looked out the windows of the gallery. A spring shower had left puddles on the veranda. They reflected the towers of a city that didn't look so dark anymore.

It was my first time alone in months, and I didn't quite know what to do with the freedom. I had said good-bye to my mother and father this morning. They were returning to Morrighan. Regan had ruled during my father's absence. Bryn was there too. Mother said he had wrestled with the loss of his leg, but was getting stronger and riding his horse again. This had opened up a new world to him, and now he hoped to come see mine—maybe the following spring.

My father was a changed man, not just by the events of these past months, but also by his journey here, seeing a world he hadn't had time for before. I didn't want to become that person who was so caught up in the details of my duty that I didn't live in the world that I governed.

I walked the streets of Venda every day. I shared cups of thannis on street corners. I shopped at the
jehendra
, listened to stories at the washbasins, and conferred with the new quarterlords chosen by the clans. I attended their weddings. Danced at their celebrations. I fell into the rhythms of a world and people who were coming to life again.

In the past months, I had traveled to every province in Venda, meeting with the people and appointing new governors. At least half were women and elders of the clans. From this point forward, they would lose their positions by the will of the people, not by a sword in their back, and that was how I would maintain my position as well.

The work and the decisions never ended. With Dalbreck and Morrighan leading by example, the Lesser Kingdoms agreed to new treaties and contributed to the settlements in the Cam Lanteux. It didn't come without some resistance, but Morrighan and Dalbreck provided escorts to contingents of Vendan settlers. The first crops had been planted, and hope was blooming. The fruit of the work kept me going.

I couldn't have done any of it without Kaden. He worked tirelessly. All the compassion and tenderness he had gotten from his mother was finally able to shine, but the scars inside him were still there, just like the ones on his back. I saw it when he held Rhys, protective, his reflexes quick, as if no hand would ever scar the skin or soul of this child. I hoped he was right.

I knocked on the door of his meeting chamber, and when there was no answer, I went inside. All traces of the Komizar were gone—except for the table with the gash in it that had marked the Komizar's rise to power. Kaden's desk was piled as high with papers as mine was. I added more to his pile—a proposed trade agreement with Eislandia.

To help the settlements, we had refitted the Komizar's army city for other purposes. The smelteries, the forges, and the cooperages were now busy supplying tools for farming and trade. The testing fields—those we had left to the seasons to erase—the scars and rubble of destruction slowly being swallowed up by wind, rain, grass, and time.

The giant golden brezalots that had survived were freed. Now they grazed in herds on distant hilltops, and I saw them in a new way, as the beautiful and majestic creatures they were meant to be. If I ventured too close, if I saw the steam of their hot breaths or heard the pounding of their great hooves, terror would still flash through me, along with the memory of mangled bodies and the smell of burning flesh. Some scars took longer to heal than others, and some scars, I knew, were necessary. Some things you should never forget.

“Looking for me?”

I turned. Kaden stood in the doorway with Rhys on his hip.

“That baby's almost a year old,” I said. “He's never going to learn to walk if his feet never touch the ground.”

Kaden smiled. “He'll learn soon enough.”

I told him about the additional paperwork I had left for him, and he took it in stride. He was everything I could ask for in a Keep—calm and steady, devoted. Loyal.

“Where's Pauline?” I asked.

His eyes lit up. “Hunting down Eben and Natiya.”

I knew Pauline would prevail and find them. She was determined that everyone would learn how to read and write the language, which she herself was studying. She had begun morning lessons for them and anyone else she could wrangle. I didn't tell Kaden I had seen them in the work yard, battling with practice swords. The competition between them was fierce, but there was a playfulness too, and when I heard them chide and laugh at each other, my heart lifted, seeing that small glimpse of the children in them return. I prayed more would come with time.

“I was just saying good-bye to Griz,” he said.

“I said my good-byes last night.”

Griz was leading another group of settlers into the Cam Lanteux. Gwyneth would ride with the caravan too, and then she would continue on to Terravin. She had been helping me here in Venda but finally had to return home—and to Simone. It didn't matter if she had to love her daughter from a distance. That was where her heart was. She'd promised Berdi she would send news of how the tavern was faring. But with all the caravans that had departed, it wasn't lost on me that she left with the one led by the big ugly brute, as she still called him. Her wicked banter had frustrated Griz these past months, but he always seemed to come back for more, and I knew Gwyneth loved watching him struggle to maintain a scowl when a smile lurked in his eyes. They were a strange pair, but I wouldn't be surprised if Griz took a side trip to Terravin.

“Jia!” Rhys squealed and reached out. His swift little fingers yanked a strand of hair from my cap, and he beamed, delighted with his prize. Kaden gently pried his fingers free.

A dawning rushed over me, and I smiled. “Look at us, Kaden. You, me, here in Venda, and you with a baby on your hip.”

He grinned. “Yes, I know. It occurred to me.”

“Strange how we can glimpse our future, but can never know all of it,” I said. “I suppose greater stories will have their way.”

His grin faded. “Are you all right?”

He caught me now and then. Looking into the distance, wondering, my thoughts thousands of miles from here. Remembering.

“I'm fine,” I answered. “Just headed to Sanctum Hall. I haven't eaten yet.”

“I'll be down in a bit,” he said.

I passed the Royal Scholar in the hall. He'd just come from the caverns. Argyris and the other scholars had been returned to Morrighan to face trial—and a rope. No books were burned in the kitchen ovens anymore, no matter how great or small their importance seemed to be.

“I'm working on that translation you wanted,” he said. “It appears to be a book of poetry.” I had given him the small ancient book that Aster had proudly stolen for me from the piles in the cavern. “The first poem is something about hope and feathers. I'll bring it to you later.”

I smiled. A poem with wings?

How fitting that Aster had taken that one. I still imagined her every day, no longer as the forlorn angel with clipped wings, but as I had seen her when I walked that thin line between life and death. Aster, free and twirling in a meadow with long flowing hair.

Sanctum Hall, like everything in Venda, had changed too. Berdi had seen to that. It no longer stank of spilled ale, and now fresh rushes brightened the floor. The much-abused table still bore the marks of its past, but at least now it gleamed with a daily scrubbing and polish.

I crossed the room to a sideboard and fixed a plate from a buffet of hot parritch, boiled eggs, flatbreads, and fish caught from the river. At the end of the sideboard there was a plattter of bones. My fingers sifted through it, thinking of all the sacrifice.

Meunter ijotande.
Never forgotten.

I slipped another bone onto my tether.

I ate alone at the table, looking at its length, the empty chairs, listening to the rare quiet, feeling full in ways I'd never thought possible. But in other ways … some things had taken hold of me that I couldn't quite shake. Things like Terravin—a new beginning that had led to so much more.

I took my dishes to the sideboard and grabbed a rag, squeezing it out in the soapy water. A servant walked in, but I turned her away. “I'll do it,” I told her, and she left.

I wiped the crumbs I had left on the table, but then continued to scrub, working my way to the other end.

Pauline walked in, her arms full of books, and dropped them on the table. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Just cleaning up a bit.”

She grinned. “You look more like a kitchen helper than a busy ruler.”

“There's little difference,” I said, and dropped the rag back in the soap pan. I surveyed the floor and reached for the broom propped against the wall.

“The floor doesn't need sweeping,” she said.

“The queen says it does.”

Her lips pursed in mocking offense. “Then I guess you must sweep.”

She left, I assumed to get another load of books.

The sweet scent of Berdi's stew hung in the air. There were still few luxuries in Venda, but her bottomless pots of stew were one, and as I swept, I saw a jeweled bay, heard the cry of gulls, remembered a gentle knock on my cottage door and a garland of flowers placed in my hands.

A happy squeal broke the silence, and I looked up to see Kaden and Pauline at the entrance to the hall quietly conferring. He handed Rhys to her, but they remained a tight knot, his lips brushing hers with ease. They grew closer every day.
Yes
, I thought,
there are a hundred ways to fall in love.

I walked over and replaced the broom in its spot near the sideboard. I had no more time for daydreaming. Piles of paper waited for me and I—

“Lia?” Kaden called.

I turned. He and Pauline walked closer. “Yes?”

“There's another emissary here to see you.”

I rolled my eyes. I was weary of the endless meetings with the Lesser Kingdoms. It seemed nothing was ever settled once and for all. There were always more assurances I had to offer them. “He or she can wait until—”

“It's an emissary from the king of Dalbreck,” Pauline said.

When I didn't budge, Kaden added a reminder. “Dalbreck has been very generous with their supplies.”

I grunted and conceded. “Show him in.”

Kaden looked over my drab attire. “Aren't you going to change into something more … presentable?”

I looked down at my work dress, then shot him a disapproving stare, saying more firmly, “Show him in.”

Pauline began to protest too, but I stopped her.

“If this is good enough for the people of Venda, it's good enough for an emissary.”

They both frowned.

I pulled my cap from my head and brushed my hair with my fingers. “There! That better?”

They both sighed and left. Minutes later, they returned, Pauline rushing in ahead, standing stiffly near the hearth. Kaden stood at the end of the hall, mostly cast in shadows. I could hear the shuffling of a contingent somewhere behind him. Kaden stepped forward and announced, “The emissary of Dalbreck, here to speak with the queen of Venda.”

I waved my fingers forward impatiently, and Kaden stepped aside.

The emissary stepped forward.

I blinked.

I swallowed.

He walked across the hall toward me. The only sound was his heavy boots tapping on the stone.

He stopped in front of me, his eyes looking into mine, and then slowly, he dropped to one knee. “Your Majesty.”

I couldn't find my voice. My tongue was sand and my throat like a stiff dried bone. Somehow I made my fingertips move, and I motioned for him to stand.

He rose to his feet, and I swallowed again, finally conjuring some moisture to my tongue. I surveyed his rumpled clothes, dusty from a long journey. “You look more like a farmer than a grand emissary of Dalbreck,” I said.

His eyes gleamed. “And you look more like a tavern maid than the queen of Venda.”

He stepped closer.

“And what brings you so far?” I asked.

“I brought you something.”

This time it was he who motioned with his hand.