Ally

  “I will invite King Hujio to Serubel on his way back to Clima. I think it’s fitting that we make our own treaty with him, separate from Theoria.”

  Separate from Theoria. All Tarik can do is nod. All his heart can do is stammer. “When do you leave?”

  Her lips form a straight line. “In the morning.” She pauses. “Unless you need me for anything else?”

  I need you for my wife, he wants to say. But it would be unfair to ask that of her now. And it would be foolish; Sepora would turn him down, as she should. She must think of her kingdom now. “I think I can manage,” he forces out.

  When she stands, he does, too. “Be well, Falcon King.” She leans in and pulls his head down to hers, planting the barest of kisses on his forehead. “And stay out of trouble.”

  He tries to make his smile look genuine as he watches her go.

  PART FIVE

  41

  TARIK

  King Hujio of Clima is nothing like Tarik expected him to be. In fact, the older man reminds Tarik of his own father, King Knosi. He’s built like a warrior, with a shaved head, and a thick gray beard that Tarik is sure used to be solidly black. He’s a reasonable man and wise.

  Even Sethos likes him. He may well be the only person Sethos is fond of, except for Tulle.

  Tarik cannot help but think Sepora would like him, too.

  He cannot help but think of Sepora all the time, in fact.

  But things are as they should be, he knows. At least, that is what he tells himself to fight against the emptiness inside him. All this time he had deemed her unworthy as a queen, and yet, in the end, she had made all the sacrifices a queen should make to serve her people. She even made sacrifices to serve his people while they still thought she would be their queen. How foolish he’d been. And now he must pay the price for it.

  “You seem distant today, friend,” King Hujio says, taking a generous sip of wine from his dinner chalice. They have had a long day talking of peace and trading, but dinner with the king is always a pleasure. He has a great many stories to tell, his favorites being of his time secretly spent as a pirate in the great ocean above Pelusia, stealing ships and men from his own father’s fleets. He also speaks of his dead queen, a female pirate with the gift of the Cumuli—a person who can control the wind. As it turns out, the king himself is not a weather summoner—though they are not rare in Clima, he reports. His own daughter is one, in fact. However, their activities are outlawed, because wielding their powers can make things quite chaotic.

  But about this, the king shrugs. “I would allow them their freedom, but you see what they did to Theoria. Can you imagine if they all banded together?” He chuckles. “But I keep them happy with riches and titles. They have no reason to rebel.”

  Tarik is not so sure of that. Not if Queen Hanlyn had something of more value to offer those who attacked Theoria. He wonders what she offered them at all, what promises she made, and if she would have kept those promises. She was never dishonest in her dealings with him. She was always genuine. She was just very good at hiding and evading.

  Much like her daughter.

  Hujio sets down his chalice and scrutinizes Tarik in a way that makes him feel uncomfortable. It is not so much that he’s staring, but that he examines Tarik with a purpose. An idea has struck the king, he can tell. He can also imagine what it is, since Hujio has been hinting at it for days now. It seems the Climan king is ready to ask directly.

  “We’ve spoken of peace and trading,” Hujio begins, “and that is all well and good. But if you really wanted to unite our kingdoms, the northern realm with the southern realm, we need more than just a connection through trade.”

  “How do you mean?” But Tarik knows what he means. And he knows the king is right. He knows that if Rashidi were here, he would have already suggested it himself.

  “I mean to say that you should wed my daughter. Unite us in that way, cross our bloodlines, and you will always have us at your disposal.”

  At Tarik’s hesitation, the king continues, “Oh, don’t look so put out. My daughter is a rare beauty, sought after by many in the northern realm and not just because of the wealth she brings to the union. She has been groomed from birth to be a good queen. She would not disappoint Theoria.”

  “I’m sure she wouldn’t.”

  “So then, when shall I send for her?”

  Tarik picks up his own chalice and draws deeply from it. He does not know how to answer. No, that is not true. He does know what he should say—he simply doesn’t know what he will say. Perhaps he needs more wine. Wine will ease his inhibitions. “I agree that wedding your daughter would be a good union,” Tarik begins. Yes, that is a good start, he thinks. But again, he stops.

  King Hujio leans back in his seat, tapping his fingers upon the table in an impatient rhythm. “So then, I should send for her.”

  Tarik sighs. “Before you send for her, there is something you must know.”

  “Have out with it, then. I’m beginning to feel insulted.” Though delivered with a small smile, it is the truth. And why wouldn’t he? Tarik is, in essence, rejecting an alliance here, if he’s not more careful.

  “I mean you no disrespect, nor do I mean to diminish your daughter’s good name. It’s just that I … I’m not sure if I would make a good husband. You see, I—”

  “You’re in love with the Serubelan queen,” King Hujio finishes, inspecting his fingernails. He takes a table knife and digs something from beneath one of them, not even bothering to look at Tarik. “Everyone knows that.”

  Tarik blinks. “Well, I wouldn’t say everyone.”

  The king bellows his laughter. “Your servants drink with my servants, who drink inside the palace and out. It is the talk of the kingdom. Plus, Queen Hanlyn was to marry her off to Prince Bahrain. That kingdom was already prepared for your attack, if it came. Hanlyn was not indirect in implying your affection for the Princess Magar, and the blow it would be to your honor.”

  “And you thought the whole thing was fair? That I should stand by and allow my future queen to be married to someone else?”

  Hujio purses his lips. “I did not know you, friend. And it was not my kingdom negotiating these things, nor did they affect my kingdom whatsoever. They were rumors. Rumors that were, apparently, true.”

  Tarik makes a note to ask Ptolem of it. He is supposed to be reporting everything he hears about the throne to his king. Somehow, he’d left out that tiny detail about the servants gossiping. Tarik nearly flushes. What must his people think of him? Do they think him weak since Sepora was, in the end, the one to leave and return to Serubel, the one to publicly break off the engagement to assume her own throne? Do they view him as Sethos always has—a lovesick fop who was unable to persuade her to stay?

  And if they see him as all these things, should he not prove to the people that he is still their king and will make sound decisions by at least taking Hujio’s daughter as wife and forming this alliance?

  “This is quite the conundrum,” Hujio says, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Are you saying you would not produce an heir with my daughter?”

  Tarik nearly spits out his wine, but his guest only laughs again. “Do not mistake my merriment, young friend,” he says, scratching at his beard thoughtfully. “This is a serious matter we must discuss. Does your Serubelan queen return your sentiments?”

  This is not a conversation Tarik should be having with a prospective father-in-law, he knows. But he cannot resist. Besides, he gets the feeling Hujio will not be quieted until he has answers. The man is as stubborn as Sethos—another trait that reminds him of his father. And with Rashidi gone, he could use fatherly advice right now.

  “I do not know,” Tarik says finally.

  “There is only one way to find out,” the king announces. “And I, my friend, am going to help you.”

  Pride of the pyramids, what have I gotten myself into?

  42

  SEPORA

  Olna is giving me a quizzical look, which m
eans she’s just asked me a question—and I was not paying attention at all. I glance around the long wooden table at all my advisers, former members of the Great Council who’d accompanied me back home with most of the freed slaves. They all look at me expectantly, some with impatience, some with polite indifference, and some with certain knowing smirks.

  I sigh, flushing just a bit, and not just because of my embarrassment. I tug at the collar of my gown, stifled almost beyond breath. I am no longer used to Serubelan attire. Where I used to feel insecure in the scanty Theorian styles, I now feel smothered in my Serubelan clothes. Being home has taken quite some getting used to. “I apologize, Olna. Could you repeat that?”

  I see a flash of frustration cross Olna’s face, but she answers with graciousness, “We were discussing whom to select as ambassadors to other kingdoms, Highness. Now that we’ve settled, we must begin to strengthen our relationships with all the five.”

  Yes, of course. Ambassadors. I had heard the beginning of the conversation. Something about appointing a representative for each kingdom from among my advisers. That’s when I’d started to lament the fact that while my ambassadors would be traveling, I would be staying here in the castle, going mad waiting for even the smallest morsel of news from other kingdoms.

  From Theoria.

  At least King Hujio from Clima will be arriving soon, if his sojourn in Theoria goes well. He’ll bring with him the tidings of an entirely new kingdom to Serubel. I’m quite sure I’ll pay attention to King Hujio. Perhaps his visit will excite me enough to want to partake in the activities of the council. Or perhaps I’ll accompany him back to Clima myself, instead of sending an ambassador. I must remember to fish for an invitation.…

  A few moments pass before I realize Olna has asked me another question. This time, she is the one who sighs. “Queen Sepora, we do not wish to bore you with such mundane matters. We can always vote on the matter and bring the issue to you for a final decision later.”

  What she means is, I am dismissed. I should object to that, I know, being dismissed from my own council meeting, but I jump at the chance to escape the confines of this assembly hall. I feel guilty for the relief that overcomes me when I stand and push my high-backed chair from the table. “Yes, I think that’s a wonderful idea.” I fail wretchedly at hiding my enthusiasm to leave.

  Olna folds her hands on the table in front of her. “I’ll seek you out later, Highness, to report on our arrangements.”

  I nod respectfully but am out of the door before the council can stand at my leaving.

  * * *

  Olna finds me on the main terrace of the castle a few hours later, sitting on the stone bench and watching the waterfall on the mountain across from me. I remember a time when I wanted to pitch myself from it, to escape the power of my father, but couldn’t bring myself to do it. To this day, I still don’t know if I made the right decision. I’ve caused so much trouble since then, and lost so much, that it’s difficult to look at things objectively anymore.

  Olna takes a seat beside me and nudges me with her elbow. “You are not yourself of late, Highness. Not since we left Theoria.”

  “Perhaps this is my new self.”

  “I certainly hope not.”

  I do, too. It would be a shame to live out my days moping around the castle. Surely I’ll snap out of it. Surely it was not always like this at home, tremendously boring and such. Of course, I was always kept busy Forging for Father. Now that I’m no longer under that obligation, it seems I don’t know what to do with myself. Of course, I still Forge, but I do so when I want or when I need energy. Many Forgers from the Baseborn Quarters made their journey with us in our return to Serubel. They take care of Forging for trade with the kingdoms. These days, I find myself nearly useless.

  “I’m sorry about the council meeting earlier. I just felt restless.”

  She nods, gently patting my leg. “Some kingdom concerns are more interesting than others.”

  She reaches into the pocket of her gown and pulls out an unopened scroll. I recognize the seal immediately as one from Tarik’s architect. “This came for you just now,” she says.

  I have been waiting for this correspondence, yet I dread opening it. It meant so much to me before. But now it only brings me pain. I unravel it, already knowing what it will say, and already knowing what it will mean for me. It reads simply:

  Our task is completed, Highness.

  My chest aches at the words. “I must return to Theoria soon,” I tell Olna. It’s a duty I must fulfill, a mistake I must aright. Yet, when can I? Tarik entertains King Hujio now, and after that, I will be entertaining him. Perhaps I should go now, and meet with them both.

  “Yes,” she says. “We agree.”

  I blink at her. “We?” The council could not know why I mean to return to Theoria. How could the council agree to something of which they have no idea?

  “After you left today, it was discussed in the meeting how the council could assist with your apparent … melancholy. We took a vote on it, and it was unanimous that you must be the ambassador to Theoria. You have many connections there, connections and relationships that Serubel could use.”

  “But I can’t be an ambassador,” I say, a bit frustrated at the very suggestion. “I am the queen. It is simply unheard of.” The work of an ambassador is considered unfit for royalty. What would the other kingdoms think? Surely they would see it as a weakness, that I do not have sufficient advisers for the task when it couldn’t be further from the truth. I have more advisers than Sethos has pride.

  “Many things that were once unheard of have taken place in recent months, wouldn’t you agree, Highness? There is an air of change in the five kingdoms. Things are not as traditional as they once were.”

  Of course she has a point. The war has changed the five kingdoms forever. They’ve united in a way never before seen. Even Pelusia has been quick to make amends. Graylin himself welcomed the Majai army to his gates and negotiated peaceful terms henceforth. These alliances are not made up from fragile words penned on a treaty scroll. They are forged of blood and loss and sacrifice. And if Tarik, with his Lingot abilities, sensed insincerity in Graylin’s apologies, he would have razed that kingdom to the ground, I know. After the war fought in Anyar itself, the Falcon King will never risk his people’s safety again.

  Still, ambassadors have delivered all of these messages. Not kings and queens themselves.

  “There are some changes, yes. But the way the kingdoms handle their dealings with each other?” I shake my head doubtfully. “A queen’s place is to be served, not to do the serving.” I remember Rashidi saying the same thing to Tarik back in the Baseborn Quarters. Olna had agreed with it at the time. Now she purses her lips at me in dissent.

  “That is true, for the most part,” she says. “But a queen also has the responsibility to serve her people. Your father did not take that responsibility to heart. And so I urge you to consider this, Highness: How much are you serving Serubel as its queen?”

  “I don’t follow.” I’m not sure if I should feel insulted. After all, it sounds as though Olna is implying I don’t perform the duties expected of me, that she’s in some way comparing the way I rule to the way my father did. If she’s still sore about this afternoon’s council meeting, she could come out and speak directly. It’s the first one I’ve been excused from, so I cannot believe that my ability to rule depends upon my absence today.

  “Would you not better serve Serubel as an ambassador?”

  “I cannot be the ambassador, Olna. I’m the queen.”

  She smiles. It is an odd reaction to my frustration. “Actually, you can. We’ve been discussing Serubelan law with your tutor, Aldon. He recalls in the histories where a king was deemed unfit to rule, and the throne was turned over to his advisers until his son was old enough to preside over the kingdom.” Olna sees that I’m horrified and quickly raises her hand. “We are not implying that you are unfit. We admire your ability to rule, Highness. If not for you,
Theoria would have crumbled to pieces after the war. But there is a law in Serubelan history that allows a ruler to relinquish the crown.”

  “I have no heir.”

  “The law does not specify that you must pass it on to an heir. Aldon is quite sure you could pass it on to a group of advisers—as was done before.”

  “The Great Council,” I breathe.

  Olna nods. “Of course, if that is not your wish, we will never speak of it again, Highness. But if it is, we are prepared to take on the responsibility. The decision is yours, by law.” Her face softens. “You see, you will soon be expected to wed, Highness, if you choose to remain on the throne. But, of course, your husband would be expected to reside in Serubel, as it is your place to rule. As ambassador, you could wed whom you wished.”

  I do not miss her meaning. “The Falcon King does not want me, anyway,” I tell her softly. “He made that clear when he renounced our engagement. And he would not leave the throne of Theoria for the throne of Serubel.”

  “Sometimes we cannot see a way out of conundrums. And sometimes the way presents itself.”

  She pulls another scroll from her pocket, this one opened. “This arrived today as well. We were going to discuss it at the assembly today, but you seemed too distracted. I thought perhaps you should read it in private.”

  She leaves me then, her stiff gown rustling in the breeze.

  I unroll the parchment—and promptly drop it to the ground.

  Tarik is to marry the princess of Clima, and I am cordially invited to the ceremony in three weeks’ time.

  Over my bloated, rotting corpse.

  43

  TARIK

  When Ptolem announces that the ambassador from Serubel has arrived, it is late in the evening and Tarik is weary of visitors. He has half a mind to put off the meeting until the morning, when his mind will be refreshed from sleep. But he already has meetings scheduled again with King Hujio; he is seeing Sethos and Tulle off to Hemut as well. Too, delaying a meeting until tomorrow afternoon with an ambassador who has traveled so far and is likely as weary as he is would be considered rude.