“You remember something else,” Rin whispered.
“Do I?” Isi smiled, surprised. “I wasn’t sure. It’s like I have a memory of a memory, barely the scent of it. I think . . . there is a place that still remembers. Where all things know all the languages. I think I was there, or almost there. I felt something . . .” She frowned in concentration. “I think I was bursting with the first words of all the languages. A good feeling. For a moment, I was looking forward to learning them all.”
Isi’s gaze shot to the door. “Someone’s coming.”
“Quick, pretend to be dead,” said Enna.
Isi lay on her side, her back to the door. Dasha and Enna knelt beside her.
“What’s your plan?” Isi whispered.
“Surprise,” Enna said. “I guess.”
Rin did not think. She bound to her feet and pressed herself against the wall, closest to the door’s opening. She’d stopped moving just as a boy of about fourteen years, his chin and cheeks red and pocked, peeked through the bars in the door.
Enna and Rin met eyes, then Enna leaned down and whispered something in Isi’s ear.
“I am just a page,” he said, his Kelish accent less pronounced than most Rin had heard. “So do not hurt me, please. Her Majesty wants—aah! ”
He cried out as Isi twitched. Enna and Dasha pretended shock.
“Can it be?” Enna exclaimed. “Is it possible? Does she . . . live?”
Isi twitched again.
“Aah!” said the page.
Dasha stooped over Isi’s body. “There’s something strange. I can’t feel a pulse, and yet she moves! Come look! Hurry, you’ll want to report this to your queen.”
The page opened the door, barely peeking through. Three soldiers were gawking over his shoulder. Isi trembled again, and they recoiled, but when she stilled, they opened the door a little more, peeking closer, their attention wholly on Isi.
It was not much space, but it was enough for a thin girl with a lot of sneaking practice. Her whole mind, her whole body, pulled in thoughts of that tree by the wall—no trunk, a few scrawny branches thrusting leaves up to the sun, its roots still living, still drinking and growing, still breaking stone.
Go like roots under soil, she told herself. Moving, though no one sees; living, though no one notices.
She bent her knees and eased through the opening, ducking beneath the page’s arm, twisting to avoid the guard. She did not look back as she left the dungeon behind.
Rin fought to keep her legs from shaking and her steps careless. Trees were never afraid. Finding Tusken was as important as roots finding water, as leaves cupping sunshine. She flowed through the underground corridor, up the twisting stair. Some thoughts she tried to keep small and quiet in her head—the knowledge that if she was discovered again, Selia would cut her throat and toss her over the wall. It did not matter anymore, not since she saw Isi die, not since Razo died. If life and death were so sudden, so arbitrary, then nothing mattered. Except Tusken.
Climbing from the lower stairs into the central chamber was the worst part. Only a handful of soldiers, Nuala, and Selia had seen Rin. Dressed in Kelish robes, walking with purpose, she hoped others would dismiss her. But climbing up from the dungeon would certainly make her look suspicious.
She hesitated near the top, listening. There were footfalls, conversation, but perhaps not near. She took a deep breath, reminded her body what it felt like to be calm, to feel breezy, to walk with casual purpose.
She climbed the last stair. The guards at the gate were looking out, not in. Workers were coming and going from the kitchen, but did not glance her way. She circled the first floor of the central tower, picking up a discarded bucket to aid her look of errand runner. The spotty-faced page came up from the dungeons and continued upstairs. She turned her back and pretended busyness sorting plates on a table, hiding in plain sight until she could no longer hear the slap of his boots.
She passed by the four chambers of the side towers, their doors all open in the summer heat—kitchen, kitchen storage, armory, and a rest chamber for the guards. None seemed likely places to keep a kidnapped prince.
Rin started toward the central winding stairs up to the second floor.
“. . . have much to account for, Nuala. Let me see for myself if the little sausage lives.”
Selia’s voice. Rin stopped, pressing her back against the rounded wall separating her from the stairs. Cold sluiced through her limbs, and she held her breath, listening to Selia and her hearth-watchers descending into the dungeon. Rin closed her eyes, trying to remember the rhythmic whooshing of life inside a tree.
The lick of sunlight on a leaf, she told herself. Deep water flowing.
With trembling stilled and breathing slowed, Rin left her wall and climbed the stairs. She’d already begun to ascend when two more soldiers came down after Selia’s party. Rin’s face burned red in surprise, betraying herself in her panic. It was too late to hide the blush, to pretend innocence and normalcy.
They stopped her, demanding something in Kelish. She tried to moisten her mouth, but people-speaking was useless when she could not speak their language.
Then again . . . She could not risk saying a word, but if guessing a person’s thoughts and desires was part of people-speaking, she was not completely powerless.
The soldier who had spoken was handsome—very handsome, with bright blue eyes and a square jaw, firm shoulders and chest. By comparison, his perfectly normal companion seemed dull.
Rin ducked her head, putting a shy hand over her mouth, pretending her blush was caused by embarrassed affection. Recalling the mannerisms of her oldest niece Minna whenever she met new boys, Rin glanced up at the handsome soldier through her lashes, back down again, and up, as if she would never tire of the sight of him. She licked her lips, smiling the sweetest, most innocent smile. And then, she giggled, covering her eyes, hiding playfully behind her hands.
The second soldier groaned impatiently. Clearly the handsome one got this reaction a lot from girls. The first spoke again, his tone exasperated, but there was no real fire behind it. He was flattered, she could tell, and now there was a danger he might corner her into a conversation. So she giggled again, peeking at him through her fingers, and fled up the stairs.
She stopped at the top just out of sight, her hand on her chest to keep her heart from thudding through, listening to hear if they would follow. One soldier called up after her, but the second said something in a teasing tone to his companion, and they continued down. Rin exhaled and took in her surroundings.
The central chamber on the second floor was fitted with large tables, carved wooden chairs, tapestries twitching in the breeze that arched in through the tall, thin windows. Compared to the bustle of downstairs, it was as quiet as a meadow morning. It took some time for Rin to make her way through all four side chambers. One of the doors was locked. She could hear voices on the other side, and she waited for someone inside to emerge. Her legs hurt, as if she’d been standing for days. Selia was down in the dungeon even now. She would notice Rin’s absence. Soon they would search, and no girlish giggles would protect her.
Some minutes passed when two disheveled-looking women emerged from the fourth door and blinked at the day as if just waking up. They hurried downstairs, letting the door swing closed behind them. Rin stood behind it, grabbing the door before it shut and slipping inside. Another sleeping chamber, this one crammed with beds and pallets, and completely empty of life.
The winding stair to the third story of the central tower seemed to stretch into the clouds, and she imagined it the trunk of a tree, leading her out to its branches. The idea made the castle seem less hostile.
At last it opened into a large receiving room, not as grandly furnished as Isi’s in Bayern, but neat with rugs and tables and lounges. It was empty. Two of the side doors stood open and Rin moved through those chambers, finding no one. She tried the door of the third—locked. The fourth was closed but unlocked. It was a bedchamber,
this one with only one large bed. The narrow light from the window dropped a slit of yellow across the floor, neat as the slice of a blade. The contrast of concentrated brightness against the dim room was blinding. Rin squinted through the glare and spotted a bump on the bed, a shape like a sleeping child.
She leaped forward, her hands out to pull him in to her chest, to cuddle him and kiss him.
“Tusken!”
The shape that gave beneath her touch, soft and square, was a pillow under a blanket. The room was empty.
Rin slammed a fist against the wall and sank to her knees. She was exhausted, starving, her whole self teetering on the edge of despair. Perhaps Tusken was not in the castle itself but in an outbuilding—the garrison perhaps. Or even in the town of Daire to the northeast of the fortress. Wherever he was, there would be hearth-watchers guarding him, and soldiers too. How could Rin possibly get him free? Or even run back to tell Isi without getting charred to bits?
It did not matter, she decided. They had killed Razo. They had killed Isi and would again, and that was wrong. Being with Isi had not changed her the way she’d hoped, but she knew Isi would not quit searching. Rin would check that last locked door, then the garrison, and walk to town if she had to. Keep moving. Throw herself into the fray and hope for the best.
Rin inhaled deeply, letting breath fill her center, and eased her way out the door.
She made sure the door shut silently behind her, then turned. Selia was entering the chamber, surrounded by seven hearth-watchers and several soldiers. Behind Selia, with her head bowed, came Isi.
Chapter 24
No. Rin had been so sure Emma and Dasha would not allow Isi to be taken alone again. But Selia must have proved the stronger. Rin ducked behind the nearest chair, but it was too late. She’d been seen.
Nuala yelled in Kelish, and fire erupted on the rug beneath Rin’s feet, encircling her in a flaming ring. She screamed, tossing her arms across her face to shield her eyes from the blaze. The fire extinguished just as suddenly as it started and soldiers were around her, hands seizing her arms, shoulders, waist, and hair. She whimpered in pain.
“I won’t allow it,” Isi was shouting. “If you hurt her, or hurt me again, I will fight back. And you don’t want to fight me, Selia. I’m not the same girl you left in the Forest those years ago.”
“Easy,” said Selia. “No one need fight. Let us talk as friends. I did say no harm would come to anyone as long as you cooperated. When this girl sneaked out of her safe cell and violated my home, she forfeited her right to my protection.”
“Selia—,” Isi started.
Selia lifted one of her pale, thin-fingered hands. “But to show you my compassion, I will pardon her. For the moment. You see she still lives, the fire that could have been her death doused and gone. Her safety as well as Tusken’s depends on you, Crown Princess. But just to be safe, since she’s proved to be a slippery little thing . . .” Selia motioned to one of the soldiers, a thick-set man with auburn hair and white temples. He clamped iron cuffs around Rin’s wrists, one hand gripping her upper arm.
Rin winced as the cuffs bit into her skin and wondered why they did not just kill her. But she remembered Isi telling Enna, Selia might threaten you, hurt you . . . use you to get to me. Rin’s stomach squelched as if full of sour milk.
“Your Majesty?” It was hard to use that title on Selia, but she managed to squeak it out. She was cuffed and held, but not gagged, and she reasoned she had nothing much to lose. “May I speak with you?”
Something in Rin’s aspect might have intrigued Selia, or alarmed her, because she strolled a little nearer, keeping the soldier who held Rin between them.
“You have something worth telling me?” Selia raised an eyebrow.
Rin cleared her throat, then spoke softly, sure Selia would not allow her to keep talking if her hearth-watchers overheard.
“When you’re muddled and lost in a crowd of people, you can’t see yourself anymore. All you can see is them. So many faces and voices, so hard to remember which one is you, because it’s easier to see all of them than to see yourself. It can feel like drowning.”
Rin was breathing so hard, she was getting light-headed. Though Selia cut her eyes at Rin, she did not interrupt. Rin continued.
“You need to be up a little higher, just to keep ahold of yourself. You should be a queen. That is what you were meant for, right? A queen—one woman who is lifted above, who has the right to speak and everyone must obey. Who is not lost in the crowd. No one would question the way you hold yourself up, the way you speak out, if only you were a queen. It’s not fair that a queen is decided by birth, is it? A queen should be chosen, a queen should be the one everyone loves and wants to follow. That’s you.”
Still Selia listened, though her gaze was not something Rin enjoyed enduring. Rin’s breathing was becoming more sure.
“I understand that, Selia, and I think you know I can sympathize more than anyone. But I also understand the rest.” Here her voice dipped even softer. “The hate that chokes your soul, the shame of cheating to get what you want, of tricking people into loving you, of pushing yourself up so high you can no longer touch and hold the people who loved you. Everything you’ve accomplished doesn’t feel as good as it should, does it? You hurt so much. And you think that hurting Isi in turn will make that go away at last. It won’t. When Isi is dead, when Tusken and Geric are dead, when you’re crowned queen of Bayern, the pain will still chase you. Let Isi go. Let Tusken go. Be queen of Kel. This is your best chance at being happy.”
It was alarming to witness the struggle of emotions on Selia’s face—anger, curiosity, fear, wonder, and beneath it all, horrifying pain. Her face was blotchy red, her chin quivered, her eyes blinked too fast. Unexpected tears stung in Rin’s eyes as this woman who had killed her brother became so terrifyingly human. Rin’s heart ached for the pale-haired girl from Kildenree: homeless, wandering, unhappy, and searching all her life for relief. She could help me, Rin thought, and I could help her. I could.
Then Selia straightened, her nostrils flaring. She breathed in and her struggle ended. She came very close to Rin, leaning so her lips touched Rin’s ear as she whispered, “You understand nothing. You are a worm quivering on a stone. You are a crushed beetle. And if you’d had any real talent at understanding, you would have seen that I don’t care to be understood.”
Selia put a hand on the soldier’s upper arm and whispered, “Hurt her.”
His elbow slammed into Rin’s gut, and she doubled over, groaning.
Isi started. “No!”
“Whoops!” Selia said. “I said, don’t hurt the girl. So sorry, Crown Princess, an error. We should get on with these negotiations to avoid any more mishaps.”
Rin’s gut wrenched, her wrists smarted where metal rubbed against her skin, her head ached from her rough capture. Speaking had not helped. Selia would force Isi to sign the document and then she would kill her. Rin sensed that familiar pit of despair open beneath her, felt herself barely balanced and slipping. Useless, hopeless, failed again, Razo’s dead and nothing matters . . .
The windows were open, and the breeze that trickled inside carried the first cool murmurings of autumn. Autumn was Razo’s favorite season, mostly because he liked nuts, and nothing pleased him more than scavenging for his own food—except perhaps eating it. Despite her nauseating pain, Rin wanted to smile. Ma said that giving in to despair was like eating poisonous berries to keep from feeling hungry. Razo never despaired.
You’re Forest born, he’d told her.
Rin kept her eyes on Isi, set her jaw, and breathed deeply.
Selia was sitting on a carved chair with deep red cushions, several paces from Isi. The seven hearth-watchers surrounded Isi, and two soldiers with swords drawn and bows on their shoulders stood behind Selia’s chair. Selia was smiling at Isi, speaking in her usual calm, pleasant tone.
“Spark a single flame, and Tusken loses a finger. Hurt one of my people, and Tusken loses a limb.
I’d prefer to keep him alive for my purposes, but truth be told, I don’t need all of him. That leads to a question—how much fun can a child have without legs or fingers? I can’t imagine you would be so cruel, Crown Princess, but I really don’t know.”
“I won’t hurt you.” Isi’s face troubled, her voice heightened as if she were trying to speak from the bottom of a well. “But understand, if you kill me or hurt Tusken, an army of your hearth-watchers and soldiers won’t stop that girl in the dungeon. If you had truly killed me, Enna would have seen to you and all your followers. The moment she so much as suspects I’m hurt, she and Dasha will tear this castle—”
Selia tsked. “Really, such talk.”
“I will protect myself. If you—”
“Please, show some pride. There is no need to grovel for mercy. Yesterday was a mistake”—she glanced at Nuala, whose broad face was bright red with chagrin—“and will not happen again, so long as you behave. I regret the tactics taken to encourage your participation, and I regret your placement in those foul dungeons. An oversight on the part of my steward. You are my guest, an honored prisoner of war, and from now on you will be treated as such. Your son will go home and your friends as well, if only you will sign your name here.”
Selia gestured to the ornate table before her, the only barrier between the two yellow-haired women. A document lay beside a quill and pot of ink. Rin observed Selia, trying to tell if the woman was lying. She seemed to mean what she said—she was willing to send Tusken home if Isi signed. But there were mysteries behind those words that Rin could not guess.
“Sign, Crown Princess. Sign your name. So simple a thing! You acknowledge that I have won this move in our war game, and thus allow the boy to return to his father. I swear on my own life that I will not kill him, and he will not come to any harm, save if you break my rules.” She picked up the paper, wafting it in the air, her eyes shut as if it created a most refreshing breeze. “Just sign your name, my dear. Just sign.”