At the harbor the prisoners wait in long lines to board ships that will deliver them to one of the ports of old Saro. They have the clothes on their backs and their lives. The Garon household has become but one clan amid many. Stripped of their royal titles they must await their turn.
Mother takes pity and allows Kalliarkos a final farewell with his mother, but when Lady Adia collapses as he breaks out of her embrace for a final time, I am not sure we have shown her a kindness.
“You don’t have to do this, Kal,” Menoë says. “It doesn’t all fall on your shoulders. Beg for mercy.”
“No. One of us must stand as the goat who goes in place of the rest. I accept the burden. I never wanted this, and now I will be free of the scheming and fighting you and Grandmother are sure to start up all over again. Let me go.”
When Menoë begins to sob I see she does care for him and always has, however strangely she may have shown it.
Only Princess Berenise makes a good-bye without tears, allowing her grandson to kiss her aged hand as if he is a supplicant.
“Come along, Menoë,” she says, withdrawing her hand from Kal’s fingers and moving them toward the ship on which they’ll sail. “We are done here. Tell your mother to stop weeping. She is not too old to have another son, if she marries again soon. As you must, once you are delivered of this child. I have some prospects in mind.”
Only when they have embarked does the last Saroese king of Efea make his way to the pier where a separate harbor barge is moored. He’s accompanied by eight Efean soldiers to row the barge, and the honored poet. Before Mother or Inarsis can stop me, I jump on too, because there is a darkness in Kal’s eyes that terrifies me.
Ro grasps my elbow. “Jessamy, you coming along isn’t part of the plan.”
I shake him off, turn to Kal, and whisper the words I dare not say aloud lest anyone but the three of us hear.
“Ro was supposed to explain it to you. I thought it all through. You said yourself that only death will free you. So you have to be seen to die in order to be free to live. That’s the plan.”
“That’s your plan. Our agreement was that I would betray my people, my family, and my own mother for the cause of Efean freedom. Even if it is right to do it, and it is, it’s still treachery. Because even now”—he gestures toward the many Saroese lining the railings of ships to watch this final act in the play, in which the anguished lover makes her farewell to the doomed prince—“even now they think I am the noble, unblemished hero who willingly and honorably goes to my death to protect them, when it was I who sold them out.”
“I will write a play that will make the tragic tale of King Kalliarkos famous throughout the Three Seas,” murmurs Ro so softly I can’t tell if he is mocking Kal or praising him.
Kal’s gaze rests on Ro for a little too long, his eyes narrowing with a hint of suspicion. Then he shakes his head impatiently, and that’s the worst part of all: that he is willing to undergo this not knowing if Ro has kept his side of the bargain between us.
“All these fine words don’t matter. I could have fought you, Jes. I could have told my uncle and grandmother the truth. But I didn’t. I betrayed all the Saroese people. That is why this burden falls on me.”
On the barge lies a barrel, wrapped in chains, with one end open and its lid propped against its side. A useful custom, Gargaron once said when he threatened my sister and me with execution by this means.
We reach the breakwater at the harbor’s entrance. Smoke billows up from the direction of Eternity Temple, flames leaping in jagged bursts off the pyre. The first of the ships cast their lines, and their rowers pull them out into the channel past our slow-moving barge. And it’s true: the Saroese crowded on the decks call out prayers and blessings upon the king they believe accepted death so they would not be slaughtered.
He stands staring straight ahead.
Ro says, “All those here today will pass this place and remember how the Saroese invasion ended.”
Kal looks at me.
I whisper, “Meet me in the ruins of Garon Palace. Do you promise me? Do you?”
With a gesture he cuts me off, as if he can’t bear to hear my voice. His sketch of a regretful smile makes my heart break, and then he takes in a deep breath and lets it out. He drops to his knees and crawls into the empty barrel.
Ro hammers on the lid.
I can’t move. I can’t speak. I can’t even cry. I have made my gamble and now I fear I have lost. I thought through every spin of the plan except this one: that Kal has a heart, and his heart is broken.
As we reach the edge of the channel Ro, with a spasm of strength and a grimace, shoves the barrel off the barge. It hits with a massive splash. Weighted with so many chains, it plunges like stone, a shadow sinking away from light and air and life. The ripples smooth out and the wind teases waves over the water until it’s as if he were never here at all.
A great shout arises from the ships and the shore. All I can do is stare at the water but of course no head breaks the surface. I cover my face with my hands.
“Turn around,” says Ro curtly to the men at the oars. “Move fast.”
I can’t breathe. I can’t think. White ashes from the still-burning pyre drift down over me, stinging my neck and bare arms.
Ro takes hold of my shoulders and shifts me to face the shore. “Jessamy, his fate is out of our hands now.”
“He’s supposed to kick out the lid. He’s supposed to swim to shore.”
“That’s his choice, not ours. We have a different task. Efea’s future is ours to build.”
When all the highborn Saroese have sailed out of the harbor, a great celebration overtakes the city, except for the barricaded neighborhoods, which are guarded but left untouched. They’ll give way in time. Numbers are against them, and in the end, as Mother says, they will leave or they will remain.
I slip away from the festivities and no one stops me.
In the ruins of Garon Palace I make my way through the rubble to the pavilion where Kal once lived. The remains of a small tray of tea and cakes have been disturbed by wind and mice: a trail of crumbs, a leaf floating in the cloudy tea. During the siege did he come here for a moment’s peace from the intrigues of the palace? Did he think of me?
I sit on the balcony overlooking the once-beautiful garden all afternoon, and all night, and all the next day, but he never shows up.
34
Jes. You need to get up.”
Amaya is poking and prodding me and I don’t have the energy to swat at her.
“You’ve scarcely moved for ten days. You can’t just lie there forever.”
“Leave me alone.”
She grabs my ankles and hauls me off the narrow bed I have claimed for my own. I hit the ground with a thump that rattles me. Once the ache subsides I decide the floor suits me just fine. I cover my eyes with an arm so I don’t have to look at her worried face.
“Jes!”
My silence encourages her to finally leave. It’s so blessedly quiet in this tiny servants’ storeroom at the heart of the queen’s palace. It takes as much effort as I can muster just to breathe in the fragrance of lotus blossoms drifting in from the central garden. I’d rather live anywhere else but Mother says that while the city is still so volatile we girls can’t just wander around freely as if nothing has happened, as if we aren’t her daughters.
I would laugh at the irony but that would take too much effort.
“I have given up,” proclaims Amaya off in the distance, thankfully out of my sight.
“Please, Honored Lady, please tell me that you will take the part of the Benevolent Serenissima when my play opens after things have settled down.”
“She’s the villain! People will throw rotten fruit at me!”
“Yes. In tribute to your skill. If you can make them hate you, that means they love you. Will you think about it, Honored Lady?”
“Your eyes are so beautiful, Honored Sir. How can I resist?”
“With less sarcas
m and eyelash fluttering?”
Amaya laughs. “She’s in there. The only reason she eats is that Mother herself, with everything she has to do, personally comes in twice a day to force her to eat a bowl of porridge.”
Rude footsteps disturb my peaceful hideaway. By throwing my other arm over my eyes I hope to doubly protect my gaze, but without a word my unwanted intruder hauls me up and carries me out into the terrible bright sun.
“Leave me alone.”
“Honored Lady, it is good to see you too. With the permission of the Honored Custodian, you and I are going to take a trip to the harbor.”
I should kick him but I just don’t care, and anyway there is a weight like a stone crushing my chest that makes it impossible to struggle.
We move from sun into shade. Slitting open my eyes, I see we have entered a long colonnade that links the central garden to the private living quarters. Workers are busy whitewashing over a long mural that depicts the glorious arrival of the Saroese. They glance curiously at us as we pass, nodding at Ro as if they know him. At the far end of the colonnade, by the doors that lead inside, two women have begun sketching out the features of a new mural to be painted in. The main image depicts the procession of Protector and Custodian and all the officials and professions and clans as they approach the Mother of All, who lives at the heart of Efea. Along the bottom third of the wall a third artist is sketching in the outlines of smaller tales: women building a rudimentary Fives court, an Efean soldier killing a Saroese king on a foreign battlefield, a ship arriving in the harbor with a young man of Saroese features standing at its rail as a newcomer to an old land.
“Ro,” I whisper.
He sets me down.
For a while I stand there watching as, against a background of sea and sky, the artist marks in the blossoms and lamps of the night market and a young Efean woman standing beside baskets of persimmons.
My legs feel so heavy. They begin to wilt, and I begin to sag. But when Ro puts an arm around me, ready to pick me up, a burst of energy allows me to shake him off.
“I can walk.”
“I’m relieved to hear it since my arms are already aching. You’re not small, you know.” When I don’t answer this pointless attempt at humor, he relents. “This way.”
We pass an audience chamber where the Honored Custodian is receiving a delegation from the West Saroese army. Prince General Cissorios and Lord Admiral Dorokos look a little disgruntled, probably because they have to negotiate with a woman when they were expecting a man. Thynos is whispering in their ears, no doubt explaining the proper protocol they must observe if they want the treaty and the grain they so badly need.
I’m relieved Mother is busy; it means I don’t have to answer any questions.
I have nothing to say.
Ro guides me through another massive hall. Here clerks are inventorying the contents of the palace, a tedious task ripe for exploitation and theft that I am glad I do not need to concern myself with, although Mother has decided it is vital. Several of the clerks recognize Ro and call greetings to him.
“When will your play open, Honored Poet?”
“Too early to know yet, Honored Lady. The theaters will reopen when the council of dames and elders decides it is fitting.”
“Soon, I hope.” They let him go and immediately begin whispering among themselves as they glance our way.
“Do you ever get bored of the attention?” I ask as we escape into a courtyard where a delivery wagon awaits us.
“I know that is not a real question, so I won’t answer it.”
I don’t ask for his help but he hoists me up anyway to the driver’s bench, and climbs up beside me. Six young men are seated in the back of the wagon with oars, a puzzle that briefly nags at me before I subside into apathy. Since I don’t speak to them they don’t speak to me, nor do they pretend they are there for an innocent reason as we make our way out the palace gate.
“They’re going to open the City Fives Court and the Royal Fives Court too, once things settle down.” Ro glances at me.
Since I don’t see the point in shrugging I wait for him to go on.
“I thought you might be interested. Some people, including me, have argued we ought to tear down the Fives courts. The game is what the Saroese made out of our holiest beliefs after they buried our temples beneath their gods and their dead. It’s an insult. But others argue with equal force that the game is how Efeans kept the Mother’s temple alive at the heart of every community. That it is a valued tradition that is part of Efea now. In the end, the council voted to leave things as they are and let the people decide if they want to keep attending the Fives.”
I’m grateful that he finally stops speaking because it means he stops looking at me, wondering if I’m going to express an opinion, and I don’t have the energy to have opinions. In silence we drive down to the sea.
We come at last to the Square of the Moon and the Sun, which has become an obstacle course made of heaps of stone. People are dismantling Eternity Temple, a task that even to contemplate exhausts me. Already the gate and tunnel have been torn open. We remain in sunlight as we pass from the city of the living onto the peninsula. Activity swarms here too, the beginnings of an excavation that will uncover the ruins beneath.
“It will take years, but that’s all right. We don’t call it the City of the Dead anymore. We call it ‘the buried heart.’ Soon light will warm it again.” Ro is radiant, all sun and glamour.
“What about Gargaron?” I shade my eyes as I look toward the royal tombs at the top of the hill.
“The Honored Custodian counsels one major decision at a time. For now the agreement is to dismantle the highborn clan tombs but leave the common tombs out of respect for those of Saroese ancestry who intend to stay, and to leave the royal tomb intact as a reminder of the past.”
We roll on around the rim of West Harbor to the lighthouse and its dock, where a big harbor rowboat, the kind that may help tow a ship to its berth, is tied up. His friends jump out of the wagon and ready the oars.
I finally understand where he’s taking me.
“No.”
“Just this one thing and then I will leave you alone unless you yourself request my presence.”
“Do you promise?”
“Yes. A poet’s promise.”
His friends remain mercifully silent as we row into the channel and out just a little more, drifting toward shore. Abruptly Ro pushes me over the gunwale. I hit, go under, and sink into the depths. I could open my mouth and fill up with water. I could let the sea take me and this weight in my chest would go away forever.
But then I’m flailing, desperate to get air. I fight to the surface to see Ro laughing at me and his friends trying not to because they, at least, are decent people.
“What was that for?”
He strips off his vest and dives in, so sleek and assured.
Surfacing, he says, “You have to see this for yourself.”
He dives under again, fishtailing down with powerful kicks. I don’t want to go but I have to. I see that now. I fill my lungs with air and go under, kicking and stroking hard as I follow him, pressure streaming against my face. The water is a little murky but not too deep away from the dredged channel. There is debris on the seafloor: planks, broken pots, a building stone.
A barrel wrapped in chains.
It’s too deep for me to reach but not too deep to let me see that one end has been pried or kicked open, the lid lying on the bottom. A school of fish swims out of the barrel. There’s nothing inside.
My lungs are burning. I claw for the surface and barely get my nose above water before my mouth gasps open and I swallow a mouthful of salt water. Retching, I flounder, then spit the worst of the nasty taste out and tread water.
Ro’s dark head breaches next to me. Water streams down his face.
“It really was set up so he could kick it open,” he says. “Just in case you doubted me.”
“But he never came to meet me.?
?? I watch his face. “Do you know where he is?”
“Poet’s truth, Jessamy. I don’t know. I saw him for the last time the same as you. He made me promise not to ask or to interfere. I wondered what he would choose, and I still wonder.”
“Why?”
“Because he told me he thought it would be better for you if he died.”
“He doesn’t get to make that choice on my behalf!”
I swim back to the boat and let his friends help me onboard. The sun overhead blinds me so I have to blink constantly. When we get to shore I refuse a ride. At first I drip with each step like grief leaking from my flesh, but by the time I reach the queen’s palace my short keldi and vest have dried. I feel so salt crusted and slimy that I decide to bathe.
As I’m washing, Amaya comes into the bathing courtyard with a folded sheath dress.
“Thank the gods. You really reeked, Jes, even if Mother is too kind to say so. I’m surprised Ro didn’t choke. Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
She considers this statement and, to my disappointment, does not make a witty and annoying retort. “The clothing is for you.”
After I dress in the soft, clean linen, she sits me in the shade and works through my hair until it is presentable.
“Let’s go to the Ribbon Market. It’s close by.”
“Is it open?”
“Of course it is open. Commerce never ceases.”
“Where is Maraya?”
She gives me a look of surprise.
“What was that for?” I demand.
“It’s just the first time you’ve shown interest in anyone in ten days. We’ll go see her before the market.”
“What about my dirty clothes?”
“You can wash them later.”
“I thought you would have an army of laundresses and seamstresses at your beck and call.”
“Mother has gotten so particular about how we behave. She’s worse than Father ever was.…” She gulps, breaks off, and hugs me. We stand unmoving and I am so grateful for her presence. The seawall in my heart is starting to crack.