The Twelve Kingdoms (38 page)

“Maybe we just didn't want it to be true. Did he try to force you down that path?”

“Oh, Glorianna.” Ami's face crumpled. “He didn't.”

I couldn't stand the expressions on their faces, the horror and pity. Dropping my head, I tried to breathe smoothly and opened my mouth to refute it, to tell them it wasn't true. Or that it was, but that it hadn't been the awful thing everyone seemed to think.

I couldn't. Instead I looked at my bare feet, long and brown against the white sand, realizing the drops of water falling onto and around them were tears.

“I can't talk about this,” I finally got out.

Ami put a slender arm around my waist, leaning into me, though I still had my arms tightly folded. She smelled of sunshine, roses, and baby milk. “You don't have to, Essla.”

Andi slid in on the other side, embracing both of us, the toes of her riding boots shiny and new compared to Ami's scuffed ones. “The last time we stood like this,” she said, “the last time before this that we all three were together, was right before I left Ordnung. You had blood on your boots and we said good-bye.”

“I remember,” I managed.

“You could have told us. You
should
have told us.”

“I didn't want you to know. Couldn't bear for anyone to know. I couldn't stand for you two to be hurt or to think I wouldn't be strong enough to protect you.”

Ami snorted in a most unmusical, unladylike way. “Says the most heroic woman alive.”

“What I want to know is,” Andi said slowly, “how can you not hate him?”

“Don't you see? I couldn't, or it would all be a lie. Everything I believed in and worked for. That our mother sacrificed.”

“I don't think they're the same thing, Essla,” Ami whispered.

“I know. I make no sense, even to myself. I don't know what to think about anything anymore.”

“I can understand that,” Andi said. “What I don't understand is why you'd even consider turning more children over to him.”

“I wouldn't.” I wiped my cheeks. “You never gave me a chance to answer, but I won't ask either of you to go back to Ordnung. Would never force you.”

“But you're going,” Ami said into the silence that fell.

“I have to. I can't abandon our people. It's my path.”

“That's what we thought,” Andi answered.

“Which is why we're going with you,” Ami added.

Surprised, I looked at them. No longer girls, indeed, but women. Queens in their own right.

“Don't argue.” Andi lightly rapped her knuckles against my temple. “And don't be hardheaded. We'll go together and set things to rights. Ordnung and the Twelve are as much our responsibility as yours. We're meant to work together—see how the Star blazes?”

“I don't know why it does now when it never did before.” I rubbed my thumb over the topaz, so hot it nearly burned.

“Because we've changed—we're not who we were that day I fled Ordnung,” Andi said.

“I haven't changed. A great deal has happened to you two, but I'm the same person I've always been.”

Ami laughed, that pure, sweet, delighted bell of a laugh that had been immortalized in more than one song, and Andi rolled her eyes.

“What?”

“Ursula.” Andi shook her head slowly, as if trying to order her thoughts. “You're totally different. The sister I left behind never would have let me badger her into sharing her secret pain.”

“Or fall silly in love with a foreign mercenary,” Ami added with a sly smile.

“I'm not silly about it.”

“You get this kind of goofy smile on your face,” Andi said. “It's sweet.”

“And you get all melty looking when he touches you.” Ami tugged a lock of my hair. “It's nice to see. Especially . . . well, knowing now why you held yourself back from being courted.”

“Does Harlan know?” Andi asked pointedly.

“Yes, he does.” Ami nodded speculatively. “That's what you were talking about when you were delirious from blood loss, why he says he'll kill Uorsin if you don't.”

“And you said, ‘Good'—I haven't forgotten,” I answered her.

“Did you?” Andi cocked her head at Ami. “I know why I want him gone from the world—even before I knew this—but I thought you still held him in high regard.”

Ami shrugged. “Glorianna wills it. And don't roll your eyes at me. You either, Ursula. Not until you spend time praying to Moranu and Danu about it. See what they say.”

“The goddesses don't talk to
us
,” I teased her, enjoying the spark of indignation in her eyes, of feeling somewhat on level ground again.

“Yes, they do,” she replied primly. “You just don't listen.”

Because Ami was looking at me, Andi took the opportunity to roll her eyes again, then pasted on an attentive smile when Ami snapped her head around to glare. “Fine. Laugh, both of you. You'll see.”

Andi reached out and took my hand, squeezed it. “Are we good?”

“Yes.” I took Ami's hand, too, and we all linked up. A memory came back, unbidden, of the three of us when I turned sixteen, all decked out in our party dresses, standing in a circle like this and promising to all live together in Ordnung forever. A good memory, full of more youthful naïveté than I remembered having. “We're good.”

T
he Tala celebrated our return in grand style, something that seemed to surprise both Rayfe and Andi.

Perhaps Zynda had the right of it—that many had waited on the outcome of that particular power struggle, uncertain who would survive to lead, where their loyalties should lie. Now they turned out in jubilant numbers, cheering on Rayfe and Andi as if they'd won a tournament. Which, I supposed, they had in a way.

Never mind that members of this particular community had a tendency to spontaneously shift into some cavorting animal or another to express their joy. Or that one of the trainers created a dazzling array of staymachs that circled in the air, shifting in rainbows of color, rippling through various patterns that exploded in ever-growing circles.

Dafne met us at the palace—as the Common-Tongue-speaking Tala persisted in referring to Rayfe and Andi's home, either through misunderstanding of the word or to impress their foreign visitors with its importance—dressed in Tala fashion and looking radiantly happy to see us. She practically tore Stella away from Ash, weeping freely over the girl's dark curls.

She glanced up at me, cinnamon brown eyes glistening, and nodded a little, making me think she recalled that stormy night we'd buried what we'd thought was Stella's dead body. A dark moment that neither of us expected to lead to this one.

We all bathed and changed into festive Tala outfits, whiling away the afternoon and evening on a balcony just above street level in front of the palace. It allowed us to sit in the sun, drink wine, and nibble on the various sweet and savory offerings brought by the unending parade of people and animals who strolled past. Some played music, told stories—the latter largely lost on most of us, though Dafne could already translate a surprising amount of the gist—or presented Rayfe and Andi with lovely bits of art and jewelry. Many, Zynda explained, sought to remind Andi of various family still stranded outside the barrier, and the gifts were bestowed in hope of encouraging her assistance.

“It's good to see the three of you together again,” Dafne commented, as Ami, Andi, and I laughed at some joke. “I hear they plan to return to Ordnung with you.”

“And you, librarian? Do you plan to return with us or stay here?”

She seemed vaguely surprised. “I assumed I'd go with you. Had you another plan?”

“I think the reasons for getting you out of Ordnung still apply to keeping you out of it. You're safer here.”

“But not most useful.”

“I don't know that's true. Having you learn the Tala language and study the texts here could be most useful in the long run. No matter who inherits the High Throne, he or she would benefit from your knowledge. And it might be best to let the dust settle until that time.” I felt that, at least with Dafne, I did not need to spell out all that might occur. “Astar and Stella will remain here for the time being,” I added. “Until we have things stabilized and the Twelve at real peace again. I'd like to appoint you regent for them, should it come to that.”

She choked on her wine, Ash leaning forward to helpfully thump her back, while Ami looked amused. Dafne threw her a look. “You knew about this plan?”

“We discussed it, yes. You're the logical choice,” Ami replied.

“I'm a refugee orphan with no relation to the royal family,” Dafne protested. “No noble blood that's officially recognized any longer. I can't be regent.”

“The High King himself was once upon a time an upstart sailor and soldier from Elcinea. These things can be overcome,” I pointed out. “And you've served as companion and faithful friend to all three of us. You offered to serve as my councilor. You're practically a half-sister. Who better to be regent? If somehow all three of us don't survive this—”

“Which doesn't bear considering,” Rayfe growled, though Andi put a soothing hand on him.

“It's better to cover contingencies,” Ash said. “Pretending disaster can't occur only invites the worst.”

“And to have backup plans to the backup plans,” Harlan agreed, as unshakable as ever.

“How would I possibly enforce it?” Dafne demanded. “I'm no warrior. I'd have no legal claim.”

“Leave the legal claim to me,” I told her. “I'll see that it's drawn up properly and distributed to the Twelve. Political order must be served, first and foremost. I care not if the High Throne moves to Avonlidgh”—I nodded to Ami—“but I won't see Erich or the others tear peace apart in their quest for power. As for assistance, you'll have the Tala at your back, which is not inconsiderable.”

“My service would be yours, by extension.” Harlan gave her a grave half bow from his chair, before settling his hand on my back again.

“And mine.” Ash raised a crooked eyebrow at Rayfe, who still brooded. “Come, now, King Rayfe. Surely even you see that it's meet Salena's grandchildren should hold the throne she sacrificed so much to secure.”

Rayfe's midnight blue eyes glittered and he shook his head. “I care nothing for the Twelve. If I thought it would work, I'd lock my queen up and prevent her from going.”

“But you won't”—Andi glared at him—“as we've been through this.”

“Annfwn needs you.”

“So do my sisters. And Annfwn has Stella. Don't fight me on this, Rayfe.”

“No.” He sighed heavily, wound a lock of her hair around his fingers, and pulled her in for a kiss that heated rapidly, until he broke it abruptly. “I won't. Though you owe me.”

She smiled, lazy and feline with it, and tugged him to his feet. “I'd better start on that debt, then.”

“Best to live in the moment,” Ami agreed, giving Ash a questioning glance and blushing prettily at whatever she saw in his eyes.

“I'll look in on the babies,” Dafne muttered. “Sounds like I might as well get used to it.”

“You don't have to take the job.” I cocked my head, studying her face. “It would be a great responsibility and not one you're required to shoulder. You could go enjoy your life for a change. Travel. See the Twelve and beyond.”

“You're not required to shoulder yours either.” Dafne raised her brows at me. “None of you are.”

“That's not true. Ami and Andi arguably don't have to go back, but it's long been my duty to see that the High Throne is secure. If not for the sake of the peace and prosperity of the Twelve, then as part of a sacred legacy from my mother.”

Her bland look told me she'd noted that I'd omitted duty to Uorsin but that she would not comment there. She'd make an excellent councilor and an even better regent. “Do you ever think it's unfair—to saddle Astar and Stella with this onus, just as your parents did to you?”

“I think that not much of what we face in life is fair. I used to think of it that way sometimes, that Salena's scheming had forced us down particular paths. Now I think it's more that she trusted us to see through what she could not. Faith in the daughters she invested everything in. A different kind of loyalty.” I smiled over my shoulder at Harlan. “Perhaps that my sons and daughters will also want to carry forward.”

Harlan leaned forward and placed a kiss on my bare shoulder, where the filmy Tala gown fell away, kindling fire in my blood. Dafne looked thoughtful. Seemed about to say something and tucked it away.

“Something to say?” I raised one eyebrow at her. I hadn't expected her to disapprove of my relationship with Harlan, as enthusiastically as she'd pushed us together.

“Not tonight.” She raised her glass of wine and toasted us, her expression warm. So much so that I doubted the concern I'd briefly glimpsed. “Before you leave in the morning, though, I have some information to share. For now, go enjoy yourselves. You've all certainly earned a bit of celebrating.”

I frowned at her, ready to press, but Harlan hauled me to my feet. “I, for one, don't need to be told twice,” he rumbled with amusement. “Good night, Lady Mailloux—and thank you.”

He tugged me away, but I glanced back as we went inside, wondering if she felt abandoned by us. Zynda, however, had moved into my abandoned chair and seemed to be regaling her with some tale that involved much hand waving and already had her laughing.

Good.

I stood in the throne room at Ordnung, wondering where everyone had gone. It should never be this empty, with no courtiers meeting for quiet conversation or even servants polishing the floors or cleaning the sconces during the hiatus of court. Had Madeline forgotten to assign their duties?

But no—Madeline had died, her head rolling away and her blood spilling as bright as red wine across the golden marble. A sound whispered at the edge of my perception and I flinched, expecting to see her corpse. Nothing, though.

Just shadows and flickers of movement. I tried to turn to look, to face it, to draw my sword, but I couldn't move. That armored gown held me rigid. As if it had turned me into a metal statue of myself. I couldn't even look down at it this time, it clamped to me so tightly. Yet, in my mind's eye, I saw myself as if from across the room, sitting on the High Throne, platinum bright in my armored gown, my face a rictus of frenzied terror, swallowed up by it, thrashing to break free.

“Mother!” I yelled. “Mother, help me!”

“Shh . . .” Harlan ran big hands over me, holding me close. “Wake up, my Essla. Just a dream.”

I blinked at him in the dark, disoriented, his skin warm and bare under my clutching fingers. “A dream?”

“A nightmare,” he confirmed, turning onto his back and drawing me against his side. “You were calling for your mother.”

“All that talk of legacies, no doubt.” But I felt deeply shaken.

“Was it the same dream?”

The man forgot nothing. I shrugged, letting him interpret that as he would.

“Interesting, isn't it, that you have the same disturbing dream back here, where your mother lived as queen. A woman who had visions and passed that trait on to at least one of her daughters.”

“This isn't a vision of the future.”

“How do you know? Perhaps she's telling you something.”

I laughed at that, feeling the odd panic of the dream crawling still over my skin. “I seriously doubt that.”

“Tell me about it.”

Knowing I wouldn't be able to go back to sleep and that he'd likely stop me if I tried to get up to sit and drink some wine, I decided to lump it and describe the dream, feeling more than a little silly as I did. But he didn't mock me, just listened quietly. As I told him, the worst of the ugly taint of it faded, receding, losing its power.

“A very interesting dream,” he commented after a time.

“See? There's no such thing as an armored gown, and even if there was, I'd never wear one—so it's not a vision of the future.”

“You have such a literal mind, my hawk.” His fingers stroked my arm, as if I needed soothing still. “It's a metaphor.”

“That I should wear more dresses?” I jibed.

He didn't rise to the bait, however. “You look lovely in dresses, it's true. I particularly like the Tala garb, which shows off your long limbs and lets me feel you move beneath. But no—such a thing would be impractical for both of its apparent purposes, yes? It fails as a gown because you cannot move. It fails as protection for the same reason. Instead it traps you. Strangles you inside it.”

A shiver of unease took me. “So what is it a metaphor for?”

“I think only you can know that. Whether of your own mind or of some relic of your mother's. Both of those you would know better than anyone.”

“I don't think anyone knew Salena well. She didn't let them.”

“Reminds me of someone else.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”
Heartless. Ruthless.

He chuckled, running a hand down my hip. “Will you sleep now?”

“I might get up, have some wine. But you go back to sleep.”

“I have a better idea.” He pulled me atop him, using the increased freedom to caress me everywhere. We'd fallen asleep naked, after making love, and he seemed fully ready to engage in more. My body warmed to the idea, responding to his touch.

“Thank you for not leaving me to be alone,” I whispered a long time later, and fell asleep to his big hand stroking down my spine.