The Girl of Fire and Thorns Complete Collection (52 page)

“Then we die honorable deaths!” someone hollers. A buzz of agreement follows, though some stare at the cavern’s chalky floor in silence.

“Honor from death,” I snap, “is a myth. Invented by the war torn to make sense of the horrific. If we die, it will be so that others may live. Truly honorable death, the
only
honorable death, is one that enables life.”

“Are you suggesting retreat?” It’s Humberto’s soft voice. Even in the firelight I can see the disappointment on his face.

“Not exactly.” I smile at him, taking comfort in his presence. My own personal guard, like Lord Hector is to Alejandro. Humberto can’t help himself; he smiles back.

The crowd shifts uncomfortably. I must make my case quickly before I lose their confidence.

“I’ve thought long and hard these last few days about how we could defeat Invierne. But of course, defeating them here in the hill country is impossible. We cannot defeat Invierne; therefore we should not try. This does not mean”—I hold up my hand to forestall the grumbling disagreement—“that we will not fight. I believe we can and we should.”

My words are right and true, and I pace back and forth with the energy that buzzes in my limbs. “But we will never engage in an all-out battle. Our goal will be to harass them. Weaken them. Terrorize them. We will be the spirit of death that visits them in the night, the hidden viper in their path. We will be the Malficio, the curse on their existence. Yes, they will eventually cut a wide path through our hills, and they will reach King Alejandro and the costal holdings. But by the time they do, they will be exhausted from triple watches, starving from interrupted supply trains, and fearing for their lives, for they cannot know when next the Malficio will strike.” My smile is wickedly genuine when I say, “If we are very clever, very careful, I think we can give the king a huge advantage. I think we can help him win this war. But there can be no heroes, no honor in senseless death. Our goal will be to sting them only, and live to sting again.”

They nod to one another, murmuring assent. I almost have them.

“There are only fifty of us!” a young man yells. It’s Jacián, the silent companion on our desert journey. “And so many of us are wounded. Crippled, even. Most are far too young to hold a weapon.”

“Yes, and those who can’t fight will have even more important tasks.” At this, several heads perk up, eyes widen. I suddenly understand that the littlest ones, the ones who have suffered the most, could be my greatest adherents. I need only convince them they are needed. “I’m sure some among you are cunning gossips. You are to take refuge in the larger villages and begin spreading rumors of the Malficio, the spirit of vengeance that rises in the hills against Invierne. You will have no firsthand knowledge, naturally, but you will encourage speculation. The rumors should make their way to the enemy quickly. Then you will return.

“Others will harvest duerma leaf. As much of it as we can find. Still others will make garments to closely match those of our enemy. There is so much work ahead of us that every hand, every mouth, every mind will be needed.”

I scan the crowd, gauging their reactions. Most sit forward, attentive. Others narrow their eyes as they consider my words. Even Jacián nods a grudging accord.

“Since there are two armies,” Belén calls from his place beside Cosmé, “they must be talking to each other. If we can figure out how to stop them from communicating—”

“Yes!” I almost jump in excitement. I hadn’t made that connection yet. “Belén, that is exactly the kind of thinking we need.”

“You said something about a viper?” A shy, feminine voice. It’s Mara, the young woman with the mangled ear who thanked me for coming those days ago. “I know you didn’t mean it this way, but my cousin in the village of Altavilla actually has some.”

I nod, thinking of the possibilities. “Good. That’s very good.”

And suddenly ideas fly at me from all sides. Many of them are ludicrous, but some are not. I encourage them all. It goes on for a long time, until someone yells, “Why should we help the king fight his war? He’s never helped us!”

I shake my head. “No, we are not helping the king. We are using him to fight
our
war.”

“But these are his lands.” It’s Jacián again. “Say the war is over. Say Joya d’Arena is victorious. Then we go right back to paying taxes to a man who can’t be bothered by us. If we help him, we should be honored in some way. Rewarded.”

And now we come to the crux of the matter. I can’t control the smile that spreads across my face. “Do you want to be free of Joya d’Arena? Would you prefer to govern yourselves?” It’s a radical thought. Treasonous. I see shock in the faces around me. And interest. “Because if you do, I think I can make it happen. I think I can convince the king to give this land to you. No rebellion. No sedition. If you help him win this war, you can be your own nation.”

They are so quiet, so still. It’s a huge claim, preposterous even. But I have yet to play my last trick.

“How?” It’s Cosmé. She steps out of the shadows, and her eyes shimmer with tears. “How could you do this?”

I take a deep breath. I’m about to betray a confidence, betray Alejandro, but the rightness still sparks in my chest. “I am not merely Alejandro’s guest visiting from afar. I am secretly his wife. And he still owes me a wedding gift.”

I hear indrawn breaths. Cosmé’s jaw hangs open. A movement catches my eye, and I turn just in time to see Humberto’s back as he hurries out of the cavern and into the night.

“His wife,” Cosmé mutters. “But he doesn’t know what has become of you! What if he marries . . . someone else?”

For the briefest moment, I dare to ask myself:
What
if
he married someone else in the wake of my disappearance? Would it be so bad?

I shove the thought away.

I say, “My father agreed to commit troops as a condition of our marriage. Joya’s army never recovered from the last war, and Alejandro is desperate to fill his ranks. He won’t jeopardize their agreement. He can’t wait forever, but he will wait.”

Alentín asks, “Would your father withhold troops if he learned you are missing?”

“He might,” I admit. “And if he did, I’m afraid this plan would fall apart.” Trying not to sound too eager, I suggest, “Maybe it would be best to send Alejandro a message? To let him know I am safe and well?”

Jacián shakes his head. “We would all hang!”

“Not Alejandro, then,” I say. “I’ll write to my nurse instead, saying nothing about your identities or our location. Just a quick note to assure her that I live. Ximena will tell my husband only what he needs to know, and she can vouch for my safety to Papá if necessary. Ximena has served my family a long time, and her word will carry more weight with my father than even Alejandro’s.”

They all agree, with some reluctance. I will write the message in the morning, and someone will carry it to the pigeon post at Basajuan. Though it may take weeks to reach Brisadulce, I feel such relief. I hope Ximena writes back.

Briefly, I wonder if I ought to miss my husband more. I’ve thought of him constantly these last few days, but only in the context of making plans for our war. I don’t yearn for his company the way I do Ximena’s.

Cosmé says, “Just tell us, please, that you can do as you say. That when the war is over, you will convince the king to hand over this territory.”

A blanket of stillness settles over the crowd. They regard me with expectant hope.

“I will do it,” I say with conviction.

They break into excited chatter. We huddle together in the half-cavern late into the night, making plans. They are with me now, mind and heart. I still don’t know the purpose of the Godstone living inside me. I have no idea how to fight the animagi. But I’ve given them a chance. Something to fight for. It will have to be enough.

When I finally stumble to my hut, exhausted, Humberto is not there. It feels strange to close my eyes without saying good night to him first. I lie awake a long time, keenly aware of the empty space at my threshold.

Chapter 18

I
N the morning, I use the village’s last bit of parchment to pen a brief note to Ximena in the Lengua Classica. I sign it “Tuciela”—“your sky,” and I hand it over to the young boy appointed courier.

Father Alentín and I spend the rest of the morning navigating the steep levels of the village, interviewing each inhabitant. I write their names on thick sheep’s hide. My wrist aches and I’m frustrated from forcing the ink into even, readable letters. We question them thoroughly, and I note where each person is from, along with any skills they may have. Even the youngest among them are remarkably self-sufficient, able to prepare food, make clothing, herd sheep, carve wood.

They view me with wide-eyed adoration and nervousness. Alentín is a huge help, thinking of questions I never would and treating each person, especially the children, with such easy, comfortable compassion. Soon I have a list of fifty-six names, and I’ve spoken with everyone except Humberto. Cosmé tells me he was tired of eating nothing but mutton and left early to hunt.

Late in the afternoon, Cosmé and Belén join me in my hut. We sit cross-legged, pouring over the list while we dine on leg of lamb stuffed with white beans and mushrooms.

“Only fifteen can use a bow and arrow,” Belén points out.

“How quickly could we train the others?” I ask. “Not to be expert marksmen, but to just shoot at something?”

“Quickly. But that’s not the problem. We don’t have enough weapons.”

“Could we get more?”

He shrugs. “We could make more, but it would take a while. We don’t have much timber in the area.”

“Nine know how to use a sling,” Cosmé points out. “To make more of those, we just need leather. And rocks. Boys love to sling rocks.”

“Yes!” Belén raises his fist in a victory gesture. “We shall save the world from Invierne with slings!”

Cosmé shrugs. “Anyone who can kill a rabbit at twenty paces could kill an Invierno at ten.”

“Well.” I take a deep breath. It feels ludicrous, like we’re little children playing at war, which, of course, most of us are. “Then everyone will try their hand at the sling while we figure out how to make more bows and arrows.”

According to our list, we have a blacksmith among us, but no iron. Seamstresses, but we don’t know how the enemy costume themselves. We have a journeyman midwife who helped Cosmé stitch the wounded, and two trappers whose traplines snaked deep into the foothills, before Invierne came. Mara is a cook of some renown. Everyone else is a child, possessing useful general knowledge but little in terms of specialized skills. So many people, so many abilities. I just don’t know what to do with them all.

A headache throbs behind my eye sockets. I pinch the bridge of my nose and murmur, “I need more information.”

“About the people?” asks Cosmé. “All you have to do is ask.”

“No. About Invierne. About their army. How close could someone get to them without being seen?”

Cosmé chuckles. “If it were me or Belén, or even my brother, very close.”

“Close enough to observe them for a few days?”

Cosmé and Belén exchange a glance. It’s the comfortable, intimate look of people who have known each other a long time. “We could,” Belén says. “There’s a cave nearby. High on a ridge. It was . . .” He looks down for a moment. “It was a favorite hideout when we were younger.”

If it’s true, this could be exactly what we need. “I want a map of their encampment,” I say. “I want to know where they eat, where they sleep, how the place is organized. Do the animagi mingle with the others or keep to themselves? What do they wear? How are they supplying the army from over the mountains? How do—”

“Elisa,” Cosmé snaps. “We’ll do it. The five of us will leave tomorrow.”

“The . . . five?”

She nods. “You, me, Belén, Jacián, Humberto. We journeyed successfully through the desert during the sandstorm season. Surely you wouldn’t risk sundering a divinely blessed grouping.”

And he was led, like a pig to the slaughter, into the realm of sorcery.
I smile weakly. “I guess I saw my function here as more . . . organizational.”

Cosmé snorts. “Eat well tonight, Princess. For tomorrow’s journey will bring fond memories of jerboa soup.” She stands and stretches.

Belén grabs my arm. “Elisa, you have a potent mind. If anyone needs to observe this army, it is you.” His smile cannot mask the seriousness in his eyes. “Just try not to slow us down.”

They leave to make preparations. I stare after them, my stomach in my throat, my hands clammy in my lap. They are right, of course; I need to observe the encampment myself. It’s a small comfort that I will likely fulfill my act of service someday, even without realizing it. And I know this is necessary. The will of God. Because maybe I am the one the prophecy spoke of, the one who would enter the gates of the enemy.

But I want to live. I want to see Ximena again. And Alejandro. I want time to figure out what I feel for my husband.

Everyone will have something to do in our absence. A few will travel to the conde’s holdings to spread rumors of the mysterious Malficio. Some are tasked with building our arsenal and training in the use of sling and of bow and arrow. Still others will dig pits throughout all the major approaches, to be covered later by tent canvas and a shallow layer of dirt. The littlest are tasked with harvesting duerma leaf.

I dread the journey. Heat, aching feet, tiny tasteless meals. This time, since we travel in stealth, we cannot take the camels and must carry our own packs.

The whole village sees us off. They wave as we climb the rise, their hopeful faces grinning absurdly above frayed robes and bandaged limbs. Humberto leads us again, silent and unsmiling, shoulders hunched forward as if plowing our path through the air. He has not spoken to me in nearly two days.

The straps of my pack bury themselves in my shoulders, weighed down by my bedroll, dried food, a water skin, ink and hide to map the army.

Humberto sets a vigorous pace. As before, I struggle to keep up. I’m not the same fat princess who was kidnapped from her bed in Brisadulce, but compared to my nimble companions, I am slow and lumbering. Our journey through the desert was brisk but steady and straight. Here in the hill country, my knees and ankles throb from maneuvering around boulders and mesquite, from huffing up a rise only to skid down the other side. I’m easily the noisiest of our group, and I can’t imagine how I’ll sneak close to Invierne’s army undetected.