The Pages of the Mind (21 page)

“My queen!”

I jumped like a cat coming across a snake, squeaking out a cry that had Akamai's eyes going wide with alarm, sending him into a deep bow and a torrent of apologetic Nahanaun that coursed far too fast for me to follow.

“Akamai—speak more slowly or in Dasnarian, please.”

He fluttered his hands in dismay. Then, with a deep breath and obvious effort, he folded his hands. “Queen Dafne Nakoa KauPo—are you hurt? I am so sorry!”

No sorry, Dafne.
Why that silly, stilted phrase made me want to smile, I wasn't sure. “It's happy good,” I replied in Nahanaun. The more practice, the better, even if Dasnarian would be easier. “You, ah, were sudden.”

“I surprised you,” he offered, seeming relieved, and I mentally noted that very useful word. “I did not expect you here on this unhappy day.”

A curl of dread wormed in my stomach. “Why unhappy?”

His face crumpled in dismay, his interwoven fingers wringing each other. “You don't know?”

“I only awoke this now.”

“Oh.” His eyes slid to the side. “Perhaps it is not correct that I—”

“Akamai . . .” Giving up on practice, as the subject was too important, I switched to Dasnarian. “Please tell me what is going on. I need to know and you are probably my only friend here. If you won't tell me, who will?”

He paled and took a step back. “I am not your friend!”

The rejection stung a surprising amount. I'd just assumed, since Akamai seemed so familiar to me, with our shared perspective and love of books and caring for them. “I apologize,” I said, somewhat stiffly, not in small part due to the Dasnarian form of apology being a particularly unyielding, unapologetic thing to speak.

“No, no.” He washed the air clear of his words. “I'm upset and speaking badly. I cannot be your friend because I am lowly—an orphan, without family or wealth. I am your forever servant, Queen Dafne Nakoa KauPo.” His gaze flicked to my wilted garland and away again. “No matter what may occur.”

“Akamai—I greatly appreciate that.” I tamped down the pang at hearing his background. Probably a ward of the Crown, much like me. Interesting that he'd found the same sort of usefulness as I had. I wanted to ask more, but his anxiety, along with Nakoa's absence, gave me a bad feeling. “Now will you sit and explain what is going on? Where is everybody?”

He obeyed and eyed me hesitantly. “Has King Nakoa KauPo told you of the troubles he faces?”

“No,” I replied, making an effort to keep my voice calm, much as I wanted to throttle him in my frustration. I'd never been a violent person and this unaccustomed quickening to anger was not always easy to manage. “Because Nakoa and I can barely talk to each other. We don't share a common language.”

Beyond the language of the body.
My blood heated at that, anger going quicksilver to desire, bringing back the memory of our intense game of
kiauo
, the rainstorm, and all he'd done to me with his devastating mouth. Before I'd melted down a different way.

“Ah, yes.” Akamai shook his head. “I am a fool with this worry.”

“And the worry is?” I coaxed.

“We were not to speak of it, lest our words incite the ancestors to make it true, but I think it is already true and there's no harm in saying it?” He looked to me doubtfully.

“I'm sure that's so. And you're not speaking to tempt the ancestors, but to increase my knowledge so that I may know what to do to help prevent it.” I sounded very reasonable, all things considered.

“It may be too late for that. The dragon is gone.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“King Nakoa KauPo proved his worth by bringing you here, to release the dragon and settle the volcano. But the dragon has not been seen. This is a sign of terrible fortune and that another should be king. King Nakoa KauPo has said that he is wise in this and needs only time. Now there is no more time.”

I am wise in this.
My heart sank a bit more into the growing puddle of dread in my gut.

“What will bring the dragon back?”

“Perhaps King Nakoa KauPo knows, but he cannot be questioned. There was great hope when you arrived as promised and the two of you worked the . . . I don't think there is Dasnarian for it.”

“That's fine. Tell me what you can.” I could guess, regardless. Great hope. That celebration. I'd thought there'd been more to it than one ship bringing a few supplies in the wake of the storm. Salient, the bit about Nakoa somehow bringing me to the island.

I felt sure Kral had played a close game of his own, manipulating events. He and Nakoa must have conspired. Kral might have had a mission he never revealed, another reason for his concentrated approach to Ordnung. Had he subtly suggested to Ursula that she send me as ambassador to Dasnaria, all the while intending to deliver me to Nakoa? If so, he was a masterful performer.

And none of it explained how or why Nakoa picked me.

“What has happened now?” I prompted Akamai.

“There is another chief who challenges King Nakoa KauPo's right to rule. He calls upon the original portents, that the magic storm came as punishment from the ancestors, proving that King Nakoa KauPo is a bad king. King Nakoa KauPo replied that the ancestors challenge us all from time to time, and the measure of a king is in how he responds to strife, that any person may have character on sunny days, but the true test is how we withstand the storms.”

That sounded so like Nakoa—though how I could think so didn't make sense, as little as we'd talked—that I smiled.

Akamai nodded. “See? He is a very good king. Chief Tane would be a terrible king.”

I set that aside. Akamai's fervent loyalty to and pride in Nakoa could not be discounted. I'd seen enough to know that few people possessed the self-awareness and critical thinking skills to assess whether or not their ruler—especially a charismatic one like Nakoa—would be better or worse than another. After all, for most of her life Ursula could not be persuaded to see Uorsin as anything less than the hero of her childhood mythology, the shining figure that existed only in tales he'd paid or bullied the minstrels into composing.

Ursula liked to say that history is written by the victors. I knew better. History was written by whoever controlled the writers. You could say it's the same thing, but it isn't. Not always.

“So, when I arrived and King Nakoa KauPo set the dragon free, calming the volcano, Chief Tane had to back down from his claims?”

“Yes. Everyone was overjoyed! You were there. You saw.”

“I remember. But . . . the dragon then disappeared?” Good riddance, to my mind.

“A terrible sign. Chief Tane gave King Nakoa KauPo three days to change the winds of fate, to prove his worthiness to the ancestors. He has not done so. A terrible day.”

“He's gone to fight this chief then?”

“No. He must prove his fitness to rule another way. By defying the volcano itself.”

“Which means?” Though my skin crawled at what I could guess.

“He will swim the Lake of Lava. If he survives, the ancestors have blessed him. If not . . .” Akamai buried his face in his hands.

19

“G
oddesses save me from superstitious ignorance,” I muttered to myself, grimacing belatedly for the irony. Still, it was one thing to call upon the goddesses for guidance, a way of accessing greater knowledge, and another entirely to devise ridiculous trials that supposedly revealed the will of people long since dead. In my experience, even those like Ami who did their best to channel Glorianna's will still relied on their own intelligence and common sense.

Something I'd love to knock into Nakoa's thick head. Why didn't he simply tell Chief Tane to test the will of the ancestors by trying to take the throne? Nakoa's warriors could keep an enemy army from gaining traction on the island. This chief couldn't have that many supporters, if he had any beyond his chiefdom. Nakoa could have rallied the might of all those hundreds—maybe even more than a thousand; I hadn't counted yet—islands in his domain. That's what I would have advised him to do.

If he'd asked. But he hadn't even alluded to there being a problem.

Inoa had.
Three days to change the winds of fate.
Was that what she'd been trying to tell me, with her three pieces of fruit?
Gone!
She'd wanted me to bed Nakoa within those three days. And he had been firm that no one tell me. How it could possibly make a difference, how it would demonstrate the will of the ancestors, if I had sex with Nakoa, made absolutely no rational sense. But, then, we were dealing with superstition, not logic at all.

It explained a great deal of Nakoa's determined seduction, but not why he hadn't simply forced the issue. He could have, at any time. Not only because he had the physical advantage, but also because we'd both discovered my vulnerability to his touch. Had he pressed, I likely would have given in. Something I would have expected a man to do, if his life rode on the line.

Something I might have given in to, if he'd only explained the stakes.

But he hadn't even attempted to. More, he'd apparently forbidden anyone else from telling me. Why?

No, instead of confiding in me, he'd left me sleeping while he went to his certain death.

That was the only clear and immediate point in all of this mess, that Nakoa intended to throw himself into the lava, where he would be instantly immolated. I didn't have a stake in whether he remained king. But it was my fault—in a convoluted way—that he faced this fate. He might have conspired to bring me here and then kept me captive, but he'd had good reasons for it, and he'd been kind to me. Even caring.

I understood now, his pretense of finding me “beautiful”—whatever he meant by it—and for tending to me so carefully. Once I'd rebuffed his physical advances, he'd changed his approach and attempted to seduce my mind. Which had absolutely worked. I couldn't let him die because of me, no matter how foolish his decision to do so.

If only because the prospect made me feel ill. He might be dead already and the thought of that gutted me, that I might not match wits across the
kiauo
board with him again, or feel his smooth skin or hear that rich laugh as he teased me.
No sorry, Dafne mlai.

I didn't know how I'd stop him, if it wasn't too late, but I had to try.

“Akamai—can you get me a horse? Immediately.”

The request set off a flurry of dismayed activity. Apparently horses were not within Akamai's purview. He did his best but met with resistance—mainly of the flustered-confusion variety. From what I could gather, Akamai had no authority over the stables and the ones who did were away with Nakoa and pretty much everyone else.

Finally, feeling the press of time, I stood and mustered my best Ursula-defeating certainty and borrowed a line from Nakoa. “I am queen,” I said, loud enough to cut through the chattering arguments of the group of servants Akamai had summoned, sending them into a flurry of bowing and apologies. “I need a—” Goddesses take it, I should have listened for the word Akamai used. “Something to carry me up the volcano.”

Not as dramatic a command, with the language scramble at the end, but that did it. Galvanized, one of them threw up their hands, just as Inoa would do, and went to see to it. Akamai stayed with me as I slowly walked to the front entrance of the palace. Or the back, as it seemed they thought of the ocean side as the front.

We emerged just as a group of six male warriors strode up, carrying a litter festooned with flowers.

“Seriously?” I said to Akamai in Dasnarian. “Can't I just have a horse?”

“We don't have horses, Queen Dafne Nakoa KauPo. I am so sorry to fail you.”

That explained the reaction to Zynda taking that form—not only the shape-shifting, but the animal she'd become. “It's not a failure, but you might have explained.”

“You were in a hurry.” A pointed reminder that I had no time to quibble about the conveyance. The men lowered it so I could sit and, raising the litter again to their shoulders, set off at a brisk pace, then broke into a jog. Hopefully Nakoa would not give me trouble about having other men carry me. Maybe removing my garland and leaving me behind meant he'd severed our relationship and that rule no longer pertained. Or he might be dead already and the whole thing moot.

Regardless, we could fight about it later if he survived.

The men sang as they ran, a chant that likely helped synchronize their pace, which yielded a surprisingly smooth ride. I felt like an idiot, of course, acutely aware of my disheveled state—wilted garland, knitted stockings that looked absurd with the silk gown—carried along like a goddess from mythology. This is what resulted when one threw about royal commands. Lesson learned.

If Nakoa lived, we'd straighten this out once and for all. I did much better behind the scenes, dispensing advice, than assuming the mantle of authority.

The journey took less time than it had seemed the first time. We moved at a much faster pace than we had before, with the large group and me going at my short-legged pace. That these men could run uphill, carrying me, chanting all the while, impressed me no end.

In my haste to get to Nakoa, I'd left my journal behind. It would be safe with Akamai in the library, but it would have helped me plan my strategy if I could have written it out. Actually, I was grasping at straws—I had no idea what kind of situation I rushed into and therefore could plan for nothing.

As I suspected, they were all gathered in the same spot where Nakoa had kissed me that first day and we released the dragon. Only this time, a huge crowd of people filled the plateau, thronging over the mountainside. My carriers, forced to slow by the mob, ceased their chant so the leader could call out demands to make way for Queen Dafne Nakoa KauPo. Feeling more ridiculous than ever, I tried to look calm, poised, and as if I knew what I was doing. I would have advised anyone else in my position to go for regal or queenly, but I knew my limitations. I might be able to convey knowledgeable confidence, but that was the best I could do.

The people acted with excited consternation, the ripples of their whispers growing louder as the news moved away from us in a wave. I was a rock dropped in the center of a previously still pond. For good or ill.

As they became more aware of our incursion, the crowd parted more willingly, opening an aisle up to the ledge that overlooked the Lake of Lava. A number of tall warriors stood there, making a tight circle and blocking whatever they surrounded, even from my elevated vantage. Many of them wore different armor than I'd seen, with feathers and flowers of other colors—likely marking them as belonging to Chief Tane or other islands. Of all the crowd, this inner circle made no note of our arrival, intently focused on something else.

The dread that had pooled in my stomach threatened to rise into my throat, burning there until I swallowed it down. Would I be faced with the grisly sight of Nakoa's burned body? For the first time since I'd made the choice to try to stop this, it occurred to me how tenuous my own position might be. I owed my false rank entirely to Nakoa—and possibly any guarantee of my safety. He might have locked me in to protect me, a precaution I'd thrown to the winds.

Ah, well. I'd been living with the specter of imminent death so constantly these last days, I'd nearly become accustomed to it. Maybe this was how the warriors did it.
Fear is like pain—it alerts us to a danger.
Ursula had told me that once and I understood her meaning better now. You paid attention to the warning, but had to let it go after that.

“Queen Dafne Nakoa KauPo demands an audience with King Nakoa KauPo!” the leader of my carriers called out—not how I would have phrased it, if I'd comprehended correctly—but it finally snagged the attention of the inner circle. The guards came to attention, throwing curious, even shocked looks my way, then opened up to reveal what they'd blocked.

Almost afraid to look, I steeled myself; then Inoa's glad cry rode on the hot air currents. And Nakoa stepped out from behind another taller, bulkier man. He wore none of his armor or jewelry, not even the dragon torque, and carried no weapons.

The shadowed reverse of Inoa's smiling face, he glowered at me, taking in the men who carried me and nearly snarling at the sight. He strode toward me, ignoring the man who spoke sharply to him, and barked a command at my bearers. They set the litter down with haste, dropping to their knees on the hot ground, pressing their foreheads down and staying there in complete obeisance.

I stood and stepped off the litter. The heat of the rocks warmed the bottoms of my feet through the knit stockings, uncomfortable but not painful. Still, I must have winced a little, because Nakoa moved to pick me up, hands reaching for me, then stopped himself, fingers flexing in frustration. He settled for looming over me. “What do you here?” he hissed through gritted teeth.

I'd cobbled together a few phrases in preparation and kept my voice low also. “I did not understand the consequences. You cannot enter the Lake of Lava—you will be injured beyond healing.”

He listened, the black anger lightening ever so slightly with wry amusement. “You have so little faith in the will of the ancestors, in my fitness to be king?”

“I have faith in what is real. Solid.” I thumped the hard muscle of his chest, not knowing the word. “Lava burns flesh. You'll die, no matter if your ancestors are happy or not happy.” I'd shredded the pitches and tones in my urgency and exasperation, but something got through to him, because he considered me thoughtfully.

“Who spoke this to you?”

“I understood on my own,” I replied with calm defiance. We both knew it to be a lie, but I wouldn't implicate Akamai.

He gave me a knowing look, then shook his head. “The time has passed. I must do this. I cannot protect you, understand? You should not have left our rooms. You will go.” Then he frowned at the litter, clearly not certain how he could send me away without having someone else carry me.

“You will carry me then, back to the palace?” I asked with as much innocence as I could muster.

A muscle in his jaw flexed and his white-threaded brows drew down. “You understand I cannot.”

“Then I stay.”

“No. These will carry you. It is . . . the time has passed.”

Behind his stern mask, I caught a glimpse of something else. Pain, perhaps. Resignation deepening the lines of his face. He knew very well that this would be suicide. In one sense, that came as a relief, because I'd felt sure he was too intelligent to cater to a superstition like this. On the other, he planned to embrace his own death and abandon his people. Never mind questions of who would make a better ruler. It went against everything I believed in for me to be the cause of him failing his sacred duties.

I couldn't let him walk away from his throne any more than I'd stand by while Ursula did.

Nakoa spoke to the litter bearers, telling them to take me away and not come back, by the sound of it. But I wrapped my arms around his waist, lacing my fingers together, burying my cheek against his skin and clinging like one of the barnacles that festooned the
Hákyrling
. “
Mlai
,” I said, kissing the skin over his heart, the rippling black scales of the dragon tattoo.

That caught him off guard and he froze momentarily, not embracing me back. Then he spoke gently. “No. This is incorrect.”

“Nakoa
mlai
,” I insisted, tipping up my chin so he could read my expression.

He searched my face, looking for something. I showed as much sincerity as I could—a very real desire for him to live. “You do not mean it.”

Thrice-damn it. “I want to mean it.”

“It is not enough.”

“It
is
enough!” Inoa grabbed his ear, tugged him close, then lit into a rush of hushed instructions, her tone growing more urgent. I didn't know all her words, but I knew the pitches she shaded with, future hope, sun after the storm. Consequences and responsibilities.