The Girl of Fire and Thorns Complete Collection (156 page)

The other sorcerer swings his amulet toward me, and his Godstone begins to spark blue fire from within its tiny iron cage.

I’m frozen, hands raised, one foot in front of the other. How did Hector struggle through this? I can’t even flex a muscle. I
can only watch, horrified, as the animagus’ Godstone grows brighter and brighter.

“Some say you are immune to magic,” says the Invierno. “Let us see, shall we?”

I am not immune, not without the Godstone living inside me. I will burn like everyone else. And I will die young after all, like most of the bearers before me.

Oh, Hector, I hope you live. I hope you flee this place, find someone else to grow happily old with. I hope
—

The door to the suite bursts open.

The animagus looses a firebolt.

A warrior’s cry, a blur of gray in front of me, a large body crashing at my feet.

I can’t turn my head to look, to figure out what has happened, but the smell of burned flesh fills my nose, and bile creeps up my throat.

“My sky,” someone whispers from the floor.

My heart caves in on itself, as if the firebolt did hit me. Tears flood my eyes, blind me, for the barrier is so tight against me they’ve nowhere to go.

The animagus who loosed the firebolt swears loudly. He put too much into the blast, thinking it would impact the bearer. Now he must wait to fill up again.

I can’t sense him calling on the
zafira
. But I recognize his grounded stance. It does not flood his stone with power the way it did before, in spite of the blood everywhere. He needs more time.

And in the slight relief that comes with knowing I have a
few moments more, the realization hits: If I can’t sense him, he can’t sense me either. I no longer have my living stone.

I take a shallow breath, for that is all the barrier will allow, and I say, “I am not the queen.”

Conde Eduardo’s head snaps toward me. But the shock leaves his face as soon as it comes. “Of course you are.”

“I’m her decoy. Her Majesty has been using decoys for months.” Like the one Franco killed.

Both animagi are studying me carefully now, and I press my case. “I can prove it. Look at my belly. You’ll find no Godstone there.”

One of the animagi steps close, peers into my face. I try to lurch backward, but the barrier holds me tight. “She speaks truth,” he hisses. “I sense no power in her.”

Eduardo glares at me. “The resemblance is preternatural.”

“The queen is hiding in a secret passage,” I insist. “I can take you to her.” Maybe I can draw them away from this room and save my remaining men.

Breath fills my lungs in a whoosh of air. The tears trapped in my eyes stream down my cheeks. The animagus indicates the doorway. “Show us,” he says.

But Conde Eduardo is out of patience. “Fine. I’ll kill her myself.” He pulls a knife from a sheath at his belt.

I try to dart away, but his arm hooks my neck, and he spins me around so that my back is pressed against him. He’s going to slit my throat, but he doesn’t want to be splashed with my blood.

“Good-bye, queenling,” he says, and raises his knife.

I lift my heel and slam it into his instep. He bellows, and I grab his arm, shove my shoulder into his, and flip him over onto his back. Just like Hector taught me.

The animagi raise their amulets toward me as they draw on the
zafira
. But they struggle, for both have recently used too much power. Their dependence on magic makes them vulnerable.

I am not dependent on magic.

I draw my own daggers, launch over the conde’s sprawled form and Ximena’s burned body, and plunge the blade into the stomach of one, right where his Godstone used to be. I gut him hard, twisting with my knife until he crumples to the ground, sliding from the blade.

The other looses a firebolt, but it’s weak, and I lift my forearm to block. Pain explodes on my skin and I’m knocked back a few steps. He flings another bolt, but I’m already diving for his knees.

We crash to the ground in a tangle of bodies. His amulet sizzles against my shoulder and I jerk away, rolling off him. I jump to my feet, dropping my right dagger. He crab crawls backward until he collides with the massive bed; then he reaches for his amulet again.

I leap forward, palm flat, and I smash his nose into his brain. He goes limp as a rag doll and puddles onto the ground.

I sense movement behind me and whirl to face Conde Eduardo, who struggles to his feet. But the guards who stood frozen moments ago now ring him with swords.

Relief and sadness and exhaustion all battle so fiercely
inside me that I fear I might vomit. Covering my mouth with one hand, I stumble toward the crumpled body of my former nurse and drop to my knees beside her.

“Oh, Ximena.”

Breath still gurgles in her throat. Her eyes flutter open, and she reaches weakly for me with one hand. I grab it before it can drop. It’s ice cold.

“My sky,” she whispers.

“Why? How . . .” I’m not sure what I’m asking. I can hardly force the words from my throat anyway, for it has become so thick and hot that it chokes me.

“Something was wrong,” she says. “Nicandro’s informants said the others were in place, but we heard nothing . . . from the residence . . . so he sent me. . . . Oh, it hurts.”

And I know it must, for never once in my life have I heard her complain of pain.

“You shouldn’t have, Ximena. You should have gone home to Alodia like I asked.” I’m gripping her hand so tight it must surely hurt her as well, but I can’t help myself. I’m afraid of what will happen if I let go.

“No,” she says, and her voice has a smidge of its usual firmness. “I was meant to die for you. I was ordained for it.”

And she does. Just like that. The spark of her life winks out, and she seems to cave in on herself. I release her hand finally, feeling like I’m letting go of a huge chunk of myself. Strange how I can be so angry at someone I loved so much.

“He is alive,” someone says.

My heart latches onto the word “alive,” and I let it pull me to
my feet. I cradle my burned forearm and look in the direction of the voice.

A guard bends over Belén’s prostrate form. I can’t see his face, but his leg twitches. I rush forward, elbowing people out of my way.

Belén is helped to a sitting position. His head lolls, and his good eye blinks rapidly.

“He’s lost a lot of blood, Majesty,” my guard says. “Hit his head after the animagus burned him. But I think he’ll live.”

I don’t have time to savor my relief. “Take Eduardo to the prison tower. And you, I need a report on the situation in the courtyard immediately. And you—”

The door bursts open and I whirl, but it’s my own Imperial Guard, Hector leading the way. I launch myself at him. Our arms wrap around each other. “You’re all right,” he murmurs. “I can’t believe it worked.”

42

G
UARDS
carry the wounded away to be tended. Hector and I reunite with Conde Tristán and Mara near the palace gate. They are covered in dust and sweat and smiles. A large scratch on Mara’s arm oozes blood.

“Went exactly as planned,” Tristán says. “We waited until half the city watch was in the yard, then slammed the gate down. They surrendered in moments.”

I clasp him on the shoulder. “Nicely done, Lord-Conde.”

His smile fades as the full import hits him. He is about to become a Quorum Lord, per our bargain. “Iladro can come out of hiding,” he says as if he can hardly believe it. “And my mother. Selvarica is
safe
.”

Mara is craning her neck, looking everywhere, panic blooming in her face. “Where’s Belén?”

“He was injured.”

Her face drains of color.

“It’s serious, but he should live. I’ll take you to him.”

We dash across the courtyard and jog down the hallway
to the sick ward. It’s full of injured soldiers—Imperial Guard, palace garrison, and city watch. Doctor Enzo scurries around cots with his attendants, barking orders. It already smells of old blood and dying flesh.

I pull her toward Belén’s cot. The bald patch on his head has blistered, and someone has covered it in sticky salve.

“Belén,” Mara whispers. She takes his hand and kneels beside him.

I would heal him if I could.

He stirs, sees Mara, smiles. “If I promise to live, will you marry me?”

She strokes his cheek. “No.”

I leave them alone.

In the following days, I pardon every soldier who followed Eduardo and Luz-Manuel so long as they swear fealty to me and to the Joyan Empire. Not a single one refuses.

When this is done, I announce that I will hold court in the audience hall, inviting all Joyans to witness “an act of judgment and an act of mercy.” Every nobleman and woman within a day’s journey comes, and the hall is packed tight with bodies. I sit on my hard-backed throne, wearing my crown of shattered Godstones, and formally announce my betrothal to Lord-Commander Hector de Ventierra, and I read aloud both the accord that formed the Joyan Empire and the peace treaty with Invierne.

When the ensuing buzz has died down, I call for the prison guards to present Conde Eduardo and General
Luz-Manuel to the court.

They shuffle in, manacles clanking around their ankles. A guard forces them to their knees at sword point.

My herald unrolls a parchment and reads their list of transgressions. When he is finished, the hall remains silent, save for the shuffle of a skirt, the clearing of a throat. The general looks off into the distance as if bored. The conde glares at me as though he might summon my death by the force of his gaze.

An act of judgment and an act of mercy. I’ve been pondering it for days. And though Eduardo is the mastermind behind their insurgence, it is General Luz-Manuel who still holds the respect of too many armed men.

“General Luz-Manuel,” I say. “For the crimes of treason, murder, and collusion with enemy spies, I sentence you to death. Your beheading will take place tonight, when the monastery bells call the sixth hour.”

The audience hall murmurs, feet shifting. This is not unexpected. The general’s face betrays nothing.

“Conde Eduardo,” I say. “For the crimes of treason, murder, and collusion with enemy spies, your title and lands are stripped and given over immediately to your heir.” I lean forward as the audience holds its collective breath. “But you will live.”

Everyone gasps.

“Our neighbors the Inviernos will be undertaking a mining project on Isla Oscura. You will aid them. You will live out your days as a laborer in their employ.”

And finally the rage in his eyes dims and is replaced by
horror, for there is nothing worse for Eduardo than being subject to someone he hates.

I do not attend the general’s beheading. I know I should. But I’m so sick of death. I’m in my suite, curled up on my bed, when the cry goes up and I know the deed is done.

Queen Alodia surprises me by accepting the invitation to attend my wedding as an honored bridesmaid. I’m vaguely aware that I had bridesmaids in my first wedding, but I paid them no mind. They were handpicked by Papá and Alodia from among Orovalle’s golden horde. They were political choices, not personal ones.

The day of my wedding dawns bright and cold, with a desert winter sun. Mara, Alodia, and Red help me prepare in my atrium. It might be the last time I prepare here, for Hector and I will take the newly renovated king’s suite. It’s much larger, more practical for two people. I suppose we might someday prefer adjoining chambers, but I can’t imagine it.

I have chosen my own gown this time. I am dark-skinned with a tendency toward plumpness, and I selected a gown that, instead of being in a raucous battle with these features, reveals them. Accentuates them. The fabric is made of dusky cream silk that makes my skin shimmer. The neckline dips low on my chest. Maybe too low. But Ximena was right—I did learn to enjoy my breasts. My rounded arms are shamelessly bared. My black hair falls in artful cascades down my back.

“You look beautiful,” Alodia says.

I startle at the compliment. Then I smile. “I’m beautiful to the one person who matters.”

She nods. “Hector’s mouth will drop open when he sees you.”

“I hope so. But I meant me. I’m beautiful to me.”

Mara weaves a string of pearls through my hair while Alodia laces up the back of my gown. Red studies the process keenly. She is especially fascinated when Mara rims my eyes with kohl and spreads a bit of rouge on my lips.

“Are you interested in becoming a queen’s attendant, Lady Red?” Alodia asks.

She wrinkles her nose. “No, I want to be a spy. Like Belén.”

Mara laughs as she places the Godstone crown with its shattered gems on my head. It was Alodia’s idea that I wear it instead of a veil. “Let’s remind the people, shall we?” she said with that familiar calculating tone. “Of what you have done and who you are.”

What I am is a former bearer with an empty navel, but almost no one knows it. And I haven’t decided whether or not to tell anyone else.

The monastery bells ring the hour, and it’s time to go. I say a quick prayer of gratitude as we exit the suite and are surrounded by my Imperial Guard in their shimmering ceremonial armor. We march solemnly through the palace toward the monastery hall, but I feel anything but solemn. I want to skip like a little girl and shout for joy.