Finnikin of the Rock

Chapter 27

From where Trevanion stood, he could see nothing but burnt stumps and acrid smoke. It had been a week since they had entered Lumatere. Longer since the deposed impostor king heard the strange whispers from those inside the kingdom that spoke of the return of the heir. As a punishment, the impostor's men had set fire to the kingdom, destroying most of the cottages and the arable land of the Flatlands. In this village, only the manor house had survived. Unlike other parts of Lumatere, where plowing and rebuilding had begun, the fields here would need to be cleared before they were fit to plow, a task that seemed backbreaking. Yet each day as he rode by, resisting the urge to stop, Trevanion watched them as they worked. This village of Sennington. Beatriss's village.

He dismounted at the road and walked his horse down the long narrow path that led to the house. Several men were loading carts with rubble and bits of timber, the charred remains of a village. The workers stopped as he passed, exchanging glances and nodding in his direction.

He reached the front door and knocked. When there was no response, he entered tentatively, following the noise of chatter into the parlor. It seemed as if most of the village of Sennington was in the room. He recognized exiles among them. Some stood, but most sat around a long table, chewing on corn cobs and drinking soup. He guessed there was not much in their bowls but water and flavoring, yet their talk was cheerful.

And then they noticed him.

The room grew silent, and suddenly she was there, standing by the stove. She stared at him, pot in hand. Her hair, once long fine waves of copper, was short, framing a face darkened by the sun's rays. She was thinner than he remembered, but neither the exiles nor those trapped inside had much flesh on their bodies. He felt uncomfortable under her gaze, like an intruder.

"Lady Beatriss."

Still no one spoke and then one of the men stood. Trevanion remembered him as Beatriss's cousin, a wealthy merchant who had spent much of his time traveling the land. Except in the last ten years.

"Captain Trevanion. Welcome home." The older man bowed.

"Excuse my rudeness, Captain Trevanion," Beatriss said finally as she came forward with a hand extended. Part of him wanted to laugh at the idea of them shaking each other's hand. Strangers and acquaintances shook hands. Not a man and a woman who had created a child. Not lovers who had cried out their pleasure in unison during those early hours of the morning when the rest of the world was asleep, their bodies speaking silently of never letting go.

Her voice was the same, if stronger and firmer. But her eyes had changed. He could only remember them looking up at him with trust, or at one of the princesses and the younger children with laughter and affection. During the past week, he had seen from a distance her tenderness with her child, but her innocence and openness were gone.

The silence became uncomfortable. Trevanion desperately wished Finnikin were by his side. His son would know what to say. He would charm them all with his honesty, and impress them with his earnestness and knowledge. No one made a move to accommodate him, but Trevanion could not blame them. Lady Beatriss of the Flatlands would never have been arrested and tortured, would never have been subjected to such horror if she had not been his lover.

The child appeared at the door. Trevanion had seen her frequently during the past week, in the palace village where members of his Guard handed out provisions and instructions. Each time, the sight of this other man's child was like a blunt ax carving up his insides.

She clung to her mother, staring up at him. He was suddenly aware of his appearance. He touched his hair, clumped in knots. There had been more pressing things to attend to during the past week, although Lady Abian had ordered him to stop by that very afternoon so she could attend to his hair and beard. He felt as he had when he was back in the mines of Sorel and Finnikin had first set eyes on him. Ashamed.

"I am sorry to have disturbed you," he said quietly, and abruptly left the room.

He was halfway up the path and almost at his horse when he realized he was being trailed by the child. She said nothing, just watched him as she tried to keep up. Her tiny face was framed by thick copper curls, and she stared at him with large blue eyes.

"Vestie!"

They both turned and watched as Beatriss hurried toward them. She picked up her skirt to stop herself from tripping, and when she reached them, she took her daughter's hand. He stared at the child's arm, saw the scratches inflicted by their queen in her desperation.

"I'm sorry for her forwardness, Captain Trevanion," Beatriss said. "There are many new people passing through and it must be overwhelming for our children."

Their children. Not his.

He looked around the village, or what was left of it, for a distraction. "We would recommend that you move your people to Fenton," he said gruffly. "There is a pocket of fertile land there, the exact size of Sennington."

He watched her face pale. "Move my villagers away from their home?" she asked.

"There is nothing left here, Lady Beatriss."

She looked at the blackened earth around her. "Burning my land to the ground, Captain Trevanion, has been a constant these past ten years."

But Beatriss the Bold refuses to stop planting.

The child was looking from one to the other.

"In the coming week, will you welcome Sir Topher and my son, who is assisting him in the census?" he asked. "I have heard you and your villagers have kept the best records, and we need help in locating names ... people ... graves."

She nodded and he walked toward his horse.

Her voice stopped him. "It brings me great joy that you have been reunited with your beloved boy."

"Sadly not a boy anymore." He thought for a moment and nodded. "But a joy all the same."

"Finnikin," the child announced.

Trevanion stared down at her, and his look seemed to frighten Beatriss. But not the child. She returned the stare, an inquisitive expression on her face as if she were attempting to recognize him. And when the awkwardness and silence became too much, Trevanion climbed on his horse and rode away.

When Finnikin returned home to the Rock Village, his great-aunt Celestina wept for what seemed an eternity. Although he now felt like a stranger among his mother's people, he allowed them to fuss over him, though they did so with a certain shyness and hesitation. At first he thought it was because he was one of the few exiles from the Rock, but one night when his great-aunt kissed his forehead, he saw the sparkle in her eyes. "Is it true, Finnikin, that the queen has chosen you to be her king?"

"Do not speak of such things, Aunt Celestina," he said quietly. "When there's so much sadness in our kingdom."

Although Sir Topher had sent messengers requesting his presence, Finnikin could not bring himself to walk the road to the palace. Instead he focused on the task the queen's First Man had assigned him, to account for every one of their citizens based on the last census. It was with a heavy heart that Finnikin began his new role, yet what started as a task of asking heartbreaking questions turned into something that marked the end of years of silence for their people.

"Talk," he would suggest gently wherever he went. It had been what the novice Evanjalin had allowed him to do on the rock in Sorel. What the queen feared had happened to her people: nobody had talked these past ten years. They had whispered words to survive. Muttered curses beneath their breath. Murmured plans in the deep of the night. Even exchanged words of love. But nobody had told their stories, until Finnikin asked them to.

In the days that followed, he listened, sitting at their tables, if they were fortunate enough to have a roof over their heads, or working alongside them harnessed to a plow, baling hay, thatching roofs. He heard tales of anguish from people as fractured as the land they were rebuilding. He saw more tears in that time than he had seen in his lifetime, but he wrote with a steady hand so the lives of these Lumaterans would not be forgotten. Perhaps, he thought, these chronicles would be read in centuries to come. Perhaps they would act as a deterrent. He could not believe anyone who heard such stories of wickedness would allow it to happen again. Never had he loved his fellow Lumaterans more than in those moments when they told their stories of terror.

"If we challenged or resisted," Jorge of the Flatlands told him, "the bastard king's men would return the next day and say, 'Pick one.'" The man fought back a sob. " 'Pick one you love to die. If not, you sacrifice your whole family. Your whole village.'"

"Men were on their knees begging, 'Take me. Take me instead,'" Roison of the River explained.

"We would sit and discuss our plan, Finnikin," Egbert of the Rock whispered. "We would work out, as a family, who we would choose to die alongside us if we were forced to decide. Better to make the choice as a family, rather than in moments where there would be no time for good-byes."

"So men would choose their sons?" Finnikin asked, sickened by the idea of Trevanion having to make such a decision.

The man looked at him with tears running down his face. "No," he said, shaking his head. "No father would leave his daughter behind to be raped and abused. We chose our daughters. Always our daughters."

As Finnikin and Sir Topher had expected, the royal treasury was almost intact; the curse meant that the impostor king and his men had not had opportunity to squander the gold. Horses and oxen purchased from Osteria and Belegonia provided much needed assistance to those plowing the Flatlands, and the construction of cottages became a priority. Both Osteria and Belegonia had volunteered to send workers to help with the rebuilding, but Trevanion refused to allow any foreigners into Lumatere and kept the borders heavily guarded. In the first week, the Guard brought back fruit and vegetables from Osteria and hunted the woods for game and rabbits. By the end of the second week, activity on the river had begun and the first of the barges came upstream from Belegonia. Finnikin stood with Sefton and the lads, watching his father as he supervised the goods being unloaded. Trevanion's hair and beard had been clipped in the same fashion as the rest of his Guard, which made him seem more like the Trevanion of old. Yet there was still a haunted look in his eyes, and Finnikin knew it would be a long while before songs were sung on the riverbank and laughter rang through the air once more.

That afternoon Finnikin traveled with Sir Topher to see Lady Beatriss. He had caught a glimpse of her earlier that week in the palace village but was reluctant to approach for fear of not knowing what to say. But when he stood before her in the parlor of the manor house, he realized no words were required. She took his face in her hands and kissed him gently on the forehead, then gestured for them to sit, and began to prepare the tea.

"Please do not serve me, Lady Beatriss. It humbles me to have you do so," Finnikin said.

"It should humble you to have anyone serve you, Finnikin," she said without reprimand.

On the table before them, Sir Topher laid out the pages of their records. "We have already recorded the names of all the exiles. If there is a cross marked next to the name, it means we know they died outside the kingdom," Sir Topher said. "If there are two strokes, we know they live."

She looked at him for a moment. "Exiles? We called you 'our lost ones.'" She looked at the records in front of her, her fingers brushing gently over the names. A small sound escaped her lips and she covered her mouth with her hand. "Lord Selric and his family?"

Sir Topher nodded soberly. "There was a plague in Charyn. Three years ago."

"All of them?" she asked in a hushed tone. "All those beautiful children?"

Sir Topher cleared his throat and nodded again.

She went back to the list on the table. "The family of Sym the potter?"

"Sarnak," Finnikin said flatly.

Her face paled. "Sarnak," she whispered. "The queen spoke to us about it just yesterday, when I visited the cloister of Sagrami with Lady Abian. I could tell the queen exactly when the massacre had taken place. When my Vestie was three years old, she screamed for days until she had no voice left. I could only sit by and watch over her. Tesadora gave her a tonic that would make her sleep. We had no idea what had happened, only that it must have been catastrophic for our people."

"The queen walked your sleep that night and said it was the reason for her journey to the cloister in Sendecane," Sir Topher said gently.

"I was never aware of her walking my sleep. It was a shock when the queen spoke of it. For a long time we could not question Vestie, for she began to speak late, and even then it was only a few words. But I always sensed there was something different about my child each month during those days of walking."

"Good or bad?" Finnikin asked.

"Unlike the queen's or Tesadora's experience, it was usually peaceful for Vestie. Tesadora was somehow able to keep the darkness away from her. But during the time of Vestie's unrest, which we now understand to be the time of the massacre in Sarnak, I remember praying to the goddess Lagrami to protect the queen. And so our goddess sent her to Sendecane, where she was safe and at peace for a time."

"So you knew it was the queen all along?" Finnikin asked.

She nodded. "Vestie's only word for a long time was 'Isaboe.' But you had best ask Tesadora about the connection between Vestie and the queen. There are things about the curse and magic that I will never understand." She looked up, sensing Finnikin's gaze on her.

"So you spoke to the queen?" he said quietly. "Just yesterday?" He had not seen Isaboe since he placed her on Tesadora's cart. "Yet the Guard has not been allowed inside the cloister."

"Tesadora will not allow men near the girls."

"We would never hurt them, Lady Beatriss," Sir Topher said.

"The damage is already done, Sir Topher. Boredom made monsters out of the bastard king and his men. They went for the cloister of Lagrami first. It was close to the palace, and the novices had no protection. On the night the impostor's men attacked, not one of them was left inviolate, not even the priestess. One night, they all disappeared, and although I suspected that Tesadora and the novices of Sagrami had taken them into their protection, it was many months before I knew for certain."

"Wouldn't the impostor king have known where the novices had disappeared to and attacked the Sagrami cloister?" Finnikin asked.

"Oh, he knew," she said bitterly. "But if there was one person in this kingdom the bastard king feared, it was Tesadora. Her mother had cursed the kingdom and there were stories that the daughter was even more powerful."

As he had many times in the past week, Finnikin wanted to tear someone apart with his bare hands. He wanted to be like Trevanion and Perri and forget protocol. Yesterday his father and some of the senior guards had entered the palace dungeon to question the impostor king and his surviving men. Finnikin knew that few words had been exchanged and that the howls from the prisoners could be heard all over the palace. He remembered the look on Sir Topher's face when they later saw the blood-splattered dungeon walls. Horror, certainly. But mostly satisfaction.

"If I could make a request, Finnikin, on their behalf. Could you ask your father to remove some of the guards from around the cloister?"

Finnikin shook his head. "Not as long as the queen is within those walls," he said firmly. "Tesadora will have to let them in soon. The queen's yata and the Mont people will want her with them for a short while before she returns home."

"Her yata is with her now."

"Lady Beatriss," Finnikin said, trying not to let his frustration show, "can you not see a problem with the fact that the queen's First Man and the captain of her Guard have to obtain information about her well-being from you?"

She gave him a piercing look. "I do believe, Finnikin, that the queen would be happy to speak to you if you were to visit."

"Has she made such a request?" he asked quietly

"Does she need to?" This time there was reprimand in her tone.

"Finnikin will speak to the queen soon," Sir Topher said. "After he follows his father's example and has his hair clipped and looks ... presentable."

Finnikin stared at his mentor in disbelief, a stare that Sir Topher studiously ignored.

"It's what the people of Lumatere expect from the one they believe will bond with their queen," Sir Topher continued.

"What?"

Sir Topher sighed. "Finnikin, I know I can speak of such things in front of Lady Beatriss. The people of Lumatere will want the queen to choose a—"

The snarl that came from Finnikin stopped Sir Topher in his tracks. "The people of Lumatere are trying to rebuild their lives, Sir Topher. The last thing they're thinking about is who the queen chooses to bond with." Yet Finnikin knew it was a lie, for he had been asked a number of times during the past two weeks if the rumors were true.

"How wrong you are, Finnikin," Lady Beatriss chided. "The queen is everything to our people. She's the leader of our land. As a single woman she is vulnerable. When Lumatere celebrates our reunification, our people will expect her to be settled so she can carry on with running the kingdom. Ever since the word on Vestie's arm hinted a return, the talk has been of you."

"And was I ever to have a choice in the matter?" He was furious, but Beatriss did not seem fazed.

Sir Topher looked exasperated. "Finnikin, you have loved her from the moment you climbed that rock in Sendecane."

"When she was a novice, not a queen."

"Oh, I see." There was disappointment in Lady Beatriss's eyes.

"I don't think you do, Lady Beatriss."

"If you were king and she were a mere novice, would you have chosen her to be your queen?" she asked.

This time he could not lie. Not to Beatriss. "Yes," he said quietly.

"Yet the queen cannot choose you?"

Suddenly he felt as if he were eight years old and Beatriss was reprimanding him for tying Isaboe to the flagpole by her hair.

"If this is about power, then perhaps you are not the right person for our queen after all, Finnikin."

"The prince of Osteria has expressed interest," Sir Topher announced.

"I've heard he's a strapping boy," Lady Beatriss responded pleasantly as she disappeared into the other room. Finnikin kept his hooded stare on Sir Topher, who yet again chose to ignore it and turned instead to Lady Beatriss as she returned with a large book in her hands. She placed it on the table before them.

"Here are the dead," she said, opening to a page. "Marked next to each name is how they died." She turned to another page. "Here are the arrests. Here are the attacks on our property, although we stopped recording them after the first two years."

Finnikin pointed to the names marked in red ink.

She stared at him. "Informants."

"Traitors?"

She shrugged. "Whatever it is they did or said kept them free from any type of punishment. I'm ashamed to say that the nobility were the worst. We could have done with Lord Augie and Lady Abian. And I would have imagined the same noble behavior from Lord Selric."

"Your actions were beyond reproach, Lady Beatriss," Finnikin said. "Your name has often been praised these past weeks in my travels. You went beyond the duty of a citizen."

"Circumstances present themselves, and at times we have no choice. I had no choice but to work for the good of the people. Perhaps if I had been presented with different circumstances, I would have taken the path of my fellow nobles."

"How is it that you survived, Lady Beatriss, when all exiles believed you to be dead?" he asked gently.

"Perhaps Lady Beatriss would prefer not to speak of such a time, Finnikin," Sir Topher said.

Finnikin held her gaze. "My father mourned your loss for ten years."

"Finnikin," Sir Topher warned.

"The births," she said quietly, leaving Finnikin's question hanging in the air. "There are one thousand, nine hundred, and twenty-three of us, last count. It is hard to determine with the Forest Dwellers. There were some who survived, perhaps hidden by our people during those days. I have never seen them, but Tesadora has hinted of their existence in the woods beyond the cloister."

"Yet Tesadora allowed you to be part of her world with the novices," Finnikin observed.

Beatriss nodded. "But she was secretive all the same. There were so few of them in the end that they trusted no one." She leaned forward to whisper. "We were very lucky to have her hide the novices of Lagrami, and later the young girls."

Finnikin took her hand gently. "The impostor king and his men are no longer in power. You have no need to fear. So we must learn to speak with loud voices rather than in soft whispers. That, I know, is what the queen wants."

She nodded. "The crops." She turned another page. "The days of darkness." She pointed. "The days of light."

"Did that happen often?" Sir Topher asked.

She nodded. "The first five years were the worst. Some weeks there was day after day of darkness and we feared the crops would fail and we would starve. Even the surviving Sagrami worshippers had no idea how to control it or what it all meant. The answers seemed to have died with Seranonna."

She pushed the book across to Finnikin and stood to refill their cups. Sir Topher walked to the window and peered outside. "Is that Gilbere of the Flatlands, Lady Beatriss?"

"My cousin, yes."

"We studied together as children. Will you both excuse me?"

"Of course."

Sir Topher left, and Finnikin began to copy the recordings from Beatriss's book into his own.

"It's because she returned to fulfill her mother's request to save me," Lady Beatriss said after a while.

Finnikin put down his quill. "Tesadora?"

Lady Beatriss nodded. "She's very frightening when you first see her, isn't she?"

He smiled, abashed. "She's half my size, so it might be slightly humbling for me to admit that."

"Well, I will admit it for you," Beatriss responded with a laugh. Then her face grew serious. "Seranonna and I were locked in the same dungeon cell. The day before the curse, she was permitted a visitor. A novice from the cloister of Lagrami. The novice was there to give a blessing to the Sagrami worshippers so they could repent before death. I remember feeling ashamed to hear such piety coming from a novice of my order. But it was a deception. The novice was Tesadora, her hair shorn, dressed in the stolen robes of a Lagrami novice. She gave Seranonna a blessing in the language of the ancients and pressed into her mother's hand a potion concealed in a tiny vial. It was a substance that would render her mother unconscious; she would be dead to all who saw her. But Tesadora knew enough to be able to revive her."

Finnikin paled. "Seranonna gave the potion to you instead?"

Beatriss nodded. "We have never spoken of it, but I cannot imagine how Tesadora felt that day, watching the guards drag her mother into the square to be executed. When Seranonna screamed out that I was dead, Tesadora knew the words were meant for her. A message to retrieve my body and bring it back to life. I drank the potion after I gave birth, praying that I would not regain consciousness. I have no memory of what took place during the curse. All I know is that Tesadora took advantage of the confusion and came to find me. She said I was still holding your sister, Finnikin."

Tears sprang to his eyes before he could stop them.

"She lived for only a few moments, and in those moments, I said her name out loud so she would one day be able to shout it through the heavens. I knew she could not possibly survive, because she was too tiny. I had carried her for less than six months. But she knew the important things before she died. That her father's name was Trevanion, her mother's name was Beatriss, and her brother's name was Finnikin. I called her Evanjalin after Trevanion's beloved mother, and when my precious Vestie was born five years later, I swear I heard her cry out that name when she first entered this world. As if somehow the spirit of Evanjalin lived within her. You may think I sound like a mad woman for believing such a thing, but there are moments when I see qualities of your father in Vestie, Finnikin."

"I've learned to accept the unexplainable and not consider myself mad," Finnikin said.

"When Tesadora revived me in the dungeons, I begged her to let me die. I was frightened. I knew the bastard king would come for me again. But she refused to leave me there. She half carried me out of the dungeons, both of us sobbing. Hers were tears of fury, mine of fear. How strange and unnatural a day it was, Finnikin. The palace village destroyed, the streets empty except for the dead who had been crushed under cottages. I could see people wailing against the kingdom walls, pounding them with their bare hands. On the road to the Flatlands, we passed those who looked like the walking dead, muttering about curses, claiming there was no way out of the kingdom. It was Tesadora and my villagers who buried my child. Down by the river." She shook her head, lost in her thoughts. "I think I buried your father that day as well."

"But he's alive," Finnikin said bluntly.

"One day I want you to take him down there, to the grave," she said. "So he can begin to heal. I see so much hurt in his eyes."

"Why can't he heal with you?" Finnikin pushed.

"Because I am not even half the person he once loved."

"Some things don't change, Lady Beatriss. Can you ever bring yourself to love him again?"

"Oh, Finnikin," she said with great sadness. "After everything that has happened, how do any of us begin to love again?"

Later, Finnikin traveled the road to the palace with his mentor. "Did she speak?" Sir Topher asked.

Finnikin looked at him, surprised. "You left because you believed she would?"

"No, I honestly did want to see my childhood friend," he said with a smile. "But I could tell she needed to talk, and I learned years ago, Finnikin, that people divulge things to you that they would not divulge to anyone else."

"A good skill for the apprentice of the queen's First Man?" Finnikin asked.

"Way beyond the skill of an apprentice," Sir Topher said solemnly. "Or the queen's First Man, at that." He sighed, looking around. "Where do you think our boy is?"

"Froi? Who knows? If he's left the kingdom, I don't want to be the one to tell the queen. I've sent Sefton and the village lads out to search for him."

They heard the pounding of horses' hooves behind them, and a moment later Trevanion and Moss appeared.

"Something's wrong," Finnikin muttered, his heart hammering in his chest. Trevanion and Moss pulled up beside them, their expressions grim.

"Isaboe?" Finnikin asked.

Trevanion shook his head, and Finnikin could sense his father's suppressed rage. "It's the impostor king and his men," Trevanion said bluntly. "They're dead."

Chapter 28

"Poisoned?" Trevanion, Finnikin, Sir Topher, and Moss walked through the dungeons, covering their noses and mouths with cloths. The impostor king and his men had obviously suffered long and painful deaths. One had managed to batter his head to a pulp against the dungeon wall in an attempt to end the agony.

"How?" Trevanion asked, fury in his voice.

"We do not know," the prison guard said quietly. "But we arrested the baker who supplied us with the loaves for the prisoners this morning."

"He confessed?"

The guard shook his head.

"This could only be the work of one who knows their poisons, so I'm hoping we've removed the queen from Tesadora's cloister," Finnikin said.

"Perri's already on his way," Trevanion replied. "He will take the queen to the Monts until she is ready to return to the palace."

"We must treat this with care," Sir Topher said. "We cannot have a repeat of the past when it comes to those who worship Sagrami."

"Agreed," Trevanion said flatly. "But if Tesadora is responsible for what has happened here, she must be arrested."

"Surely you are not suggesting she's working with the Charynites to keep the impostor king from talking?" Sir Topher asked.

"We take no chances."

It took most of the day to ride to the cloister at the northwest tip of the kingdom. On the way, they passed the cherry blossom tree that had been planted in honor of the dead queen's youngest child, Isaboe. The cloister, where Perri had hidden Tesadora and the novices all those years ago, was one of the most ancient temples in the land. It was surrounded by woodland, where Trevanion's men were now positioned, some in the open, others concealed.

The cloister's entrance was a covered walkway, which led into circular gardens where the novices worked and meditated. Surrounding the gardens were the living quarters. Tesadora stood at the entrance, staring at the men impassively. Light played through the arched opening, and it made her look almost ghostly with her strange hair and beautiful face. Finnikin could not help wondering how such a tiny woman had managed to carry the much taller Beatriss out of the dungeons that day.

"There seem to be a lot of angry men in the vicinity, Captain," Tesadora said by way of greeting. "They are disturbing my girls."

"I'm hoping you made Perri's acquaintance this morning, Tesadora."

"The Savage and I are well acquainted, as you would know," she said coldly. "He had the queen removed from our cloister, much to the distress of both the novices and the queen."

Trevanion looked to one of his guards nearby. The guard nodded to verify her story.

"We would like permission to enter," Sir Topher said.

"I will not have my novices alarmed any further. I fear you will also have me removed from the cloister by force if I allow you to enter."

Finnikin was sure that Tesadora's only knowledge of fear was how to instill it in others. "Out of respect for the role you played in the survival of Lady Beatriss, my father will restrain himself, Tesadora," he said.

She stared at him, as if seeing him for the first time in the midst of the others. "Leave your men outside," she ordered. She turned and walked down the passageway. Trevanion, Sir Topher, and Finnikin followed.

"Do not speak for me again, Finn," his father warned in a low tone. "A poor captain I would make if all my decisions were based on how my loved ones were treated."

They walked through the gardens, aware of the stares from the novices. Those belonging to Sagrami were dressed in blue, those to Lagrami in gray. Most were young. "Finnikin of the Rock," he heard one whisper to another. "He belongs to the queen."

They reached the main temple, where Tesadora lit a candle.

"We have the impostor king and nine of his men lying dead in the palace dungeons. Poisoned," Sir Topher said after she had finished purifying the air with the scented smoke of the candle and a prayer to her goddess.

Tesadora held his gaze. "Are you accusing me, Sir Topher?" She turned to Trevanion. "Is this an arrest, Captain Trevanion? Or are you expecting me to shed tears for these... What did you call them? Men?"

"Our only evidence that Charyn was set to invade Belegonia through our kingdom has been destroyed," Trevanion said. "What would you do in our place, Tesadora?"

She gave a small laugh. "In your place I would declare this a day of joy for the people of Lumatere."

"Especially, perhaps, for those who worship Sagrami," Finnikin said.

"These past ten years the bastard king and his men have not discriminated between worshippers of Sagrami and those of Lagrami. All Lumaterans were victims of their reign of terror."

"The surviving Forest Dwellers?" Trevanion asked, indicating the woodlands. "Did they order the murder of the impostor king and his men, Tesadora?"

Tesadora ignored the question. "The Forest Dwellers have requested autonomy."

"No," Finnikin said firmly. "Your people belong to this kingdom. Autonomy will only make things worse for you."

"Those who worship Sagrami did not feel as if they belonged to this kingdom during the five days of the unspeakable. Is that not what you call those days?"

"The queen would never allow anything to happen to the Forest Dwellers."

"And if something happens to the queen? We were protected under our previous king and queen, yet the moment they were gone, we were hunted like animals and slaughtered. Would you like to carry out your census here, Finnikin? Before your five days of the unspeakable, there were four hundred and thirty-seven Forest Dwellers. Today there are less than forty."

"They will be protected," Sir Topher said firmly.

"Despite what happens to me?"

"Have we treated you as the enemy?" Finnikin asked. "We need what you can teach us. We need to know about the magic."

"So you can control it? Cage it?"

"Perhaps to celebrate it," Finnikin said. "So we can learn to be healers. Your young girls have skills."

"And you expect me to believe this is your reason for visiting today? When I'm here, answering your questions in an interrogation room?"

"No one is arresting you, Tesadora, and this is a temple," Sir Topher said.

"Yet your captain holds his sword, ready for attack."

"The baker stands accused of murder unless you can shed some light on what took place in the palace this morning!" Trevanion snapped.

There was no response.

"He will suffer for something you planned, Tesadora."

"And Beatriss suffered for something you did, did she not, Trevanion? The captain of the Guard who chose not to lie prostrate at the feet of the bastard king. But by our goddess," Tesadora swore, "they ensured that his lover lay prostrate at their feet. Continually. Dragged by her hair out of her home night after night. She was once the most envied of women in Lumatere when she was loved by the captain of the King's Guard. But nobody envied her during our years of captivity. She was their perfect weapon to keep our people in place. When they discovered she was alive and re-arrested her, the bastard king chose not to have her executed. No, he found a better use for the former lover of the captain of the King's Guard. 'See this woman,' he would taunt whenever his men dragged her broken and bruised body into the square. 'This is what will happen to your loved ones if you dare to challenge a king.'"

Sir Topher hissed with fury as Trevanion walked out of the room. Finnikin could not imagine what images had just passed through his father's head. He had been told tales of Beatriss's fate but had foolishly hoped his father would never hear.

Sir Topher stared at Tesadora. "I have a better tale to tell," he spat. "The one where the captain sensed what would happen between himself and the impostor king. So he sent a message to his trusted friend Perri the Savage, telling him to take Lady Beatriss from her manor to the Valley of Tranquillity, where Lord August and Lady Abian had taken refuge. To leave her with them so she would be protected. But Perri was nowhere to be found that day and never received the message. You see, Perri was on his way to warn a childhood nemesis. Someone he believed his family had wronged for many years. Someone he believed deserved to live. I heard the sorry tale from Perri himself, still grief-stricken after all these years that he let his captain down. Imagine, Tesadora, if Perri had received Trevanion's message. Imagine the life Beatriss would have had with Lord August and his family in Belegonia."

Tesadora's mouth twisted with bitterness, but she failed to prevent the tears from welling in her eyes.

"Yet Perri never regretted his decision to travel this far to hide you and the novices of Sagrami. And I never believed he should regret it, nor Trevanion. Until perhaps today."

Finnikin went searching for his father. He found him stooped over with his back to the cloister, one hand against a tree. When Trevanion turned, he was wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, his face ashen. Sir Topher stood at the cloister entrance and they walked toward him in silence.

"We have no more business here today," Sir Topher said.

Tesadora appeared in the passageway behind him. Her face was still impassive, but her eyes had softened.

"It began with Beatriss's first child," she said. "Your child, Trevanion. My mother went to the stake with the child's blood on her hands. We believe that the blood, mingled with Balthazar's and Isaboe's, got caught up in the dark magic of the curse. And became its light."

Trevanion was silent.

"Because both the royal children and the babe were pure of heart?" Sir Topher asked.

"No," she said and Finnikin flinched as her eyes met his. Despite the strangeness of her hair and the darkness of her spirit, she was probably the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

"No," she repeated. "I believe it's because a young boy made a sacrifice to keep the princess safe. Flesh from your body, Finnikin. But it cost you more than that."

He dared not look away.

"I was there in the square the day my mother died," she said, anger in her voice. "Even through her curse, while others ran, I stayed. She watched me come into this world, delivered me herself. So I watched her leave it. The perfect balance, don't you think?"

No one spoke.

"I saw you that day," she continued, her eyes fixed on Finnikin's. "Saw what you did. I keep a dagger with your name on it, Finnikin of the Rock. My only consolation in mourning my mother is that she did not feel those flames for too long."

Finnikin heard Trevanion's and Sir Topher's intake of breath, saw the shock on their faces.

"What did Finnikin's actions have to do with making contact with Queen Isaboe outside Lumatere?" Sir Topher asked.

"I know as much as you do, Sir Topher. The dead do not send a guide or explanation. We work things out for ourselves. I met Lady Beatriss in the dungeons of the palace, where she lay clutching a dead child. After returning her to Sennington, I did not see her again for another five years. The darkest of years. And then one day, in the fifth year of our captivity, Lady Beatriss arrived on the doorstep. Just over there," she said, pointing to the entrance. "In the early hours of the morning. And she did not come alone." She turned to where a young woman knelt in the garden, planting. "Japhra?"

The girl walked toward them, and Finnikin realized she was one of the novices who had been in Tesadora's cart the day they entered Lumatere. She was short, almost stout. Her eyes were deerlike, her sable-colored hair thick and lush.

"Friends of Lady Beatriss, Japhra," Tesadora said. "Can you fetch us some tea?"

When the girl left, Tesadora walked them back inside to one of the rooms in the cloister.

"The night she came to me, Beatriss had smuggled Japhra out of the palace and they rode through the dark to find us. Japhra of the Flatlands was twelve. Taken from her family by the bastard king to do with whatever he pleased. She was almost catatonic, and even today her spirit is damaged."

Finnikin shuddered.

"I had been trying unsuccessfully to contact my mother through the magic of the goddesses and had failed repeatedly. That all changed the night I was reacquainted with Lady Beatriss. Japhra wasn't the only reason she came to see me. Let's just say it was for ... medicinal purposes."

"She was with child?" Trevanion asked.

"I don't think I need to tell you that if this conversation ever goes beyond us —"

"You'll poison us?" Trevanion said.

She sent him a scathing look. "It would shatter Beatriss's heart if you knew why she came to see me that night, and we don't want to go around doing that, do we, Captain?"

"She wanted to rid herself of the babe inside her?" Finnikin asked.

"I don't think she knew what she wanted. But she was exhausted from the ride, so I allowed her to stay the night. The girls and I had had very little contact with the rest of the kingdom up until that point. I had twelve of the forty remaining Forest Dwellers in my care in the cloister, as well as the priestess of Lagrami and her girls. I trusted no one with their lives."

The girl returned and poured the tea with trembling hands.

"Thank you, Japhra," Trevanion said quietly.

She nodded and left them.

"That night, the spirit of my mother came calling. I felt her. As if she were holding me somehow. She spoke words to me that I could not recall the next morning, until Beatriss told me of her strange sleep. She had dreamed she held her first child in her arms. And the child had spoken to her. Delivered a message."

The three men waited.

" 'The child of Beatriss will share dreams with our heir, who will set us free.'"

She took in the looks of shock and disbelief on their faces.

"You could argue that it was the need of two grieving women, one for her mother and one for her child. But at such times, gentlemen, you grab at any sign of hope. You grab it with both hands and breathe life into it, day after day. You do anything to keep it alive.

"We talked about it, the priestess of Lagrami with us, all day and night, putting forward different theories. Seranonna and the child died on the same day and we believed that my mother carried Beatriss's child to the heavens to be protected by our goddess. That night in our cloister, your child came looking for her mother, Trevanion."

"What magic did you use to contact Isaboe?"

"None. It's beyond even my power or knowledge. I can heal because my mother taught me what plants and flowers to use. It's what I teach the novices. Japhra is one of our most talented. But healing and magic are different things. One must be very powerful to make contact with another through the sleep. A spirit so strong, full of all things good and all things wicked. An ability to look into the darkness and find a light."

"Isaboe," Finnikin said.

Tesadora nodded. "She found us. She found Vestie, but I believe her sleep spirit was searching for Beatriss's first child, Finnikin's half sister. Somehow, blood caused a bond between Isaboe and any child that Beatriss would give birth to. All because Finnikin made a sacrifice to keep the princess safe, and I'm presuming he used the same dagger for the sacrifice as he did to end my mother's suffering."

Finnikin did not respond.

"Of course, Beatriss was petrified about the message, but she knew she had no choice. I promised her that if she gave birth to the child, I would take it and she need never be reminded of who it was or what it represented. She agreed. She had nothing left to give. Oh, but the moment she saw Vestie," Tesadora said with a sigh, "I believe that if anyone had tried removing that child from Beatriss, they would have lost their life. I think many people were strengthened by the sight of them together. Villagers would visit Beatriss, afraid to speak but not afraid to hope, and somehow Beatriss gave them that hope. 'What needs to be done,' she would tell me.

"Then one day the blacksmith of the River village of Petros came to see me. Confessed to me that he had turned a Sagrami worshipper out of his home after the deaths of our beloveds. He begged me to take his daughters for protection."

"It was good of you to agree," Trevanion conceded.

"I didn't," she said flatly. "So that night, while his family slept, he smothered his wife and three daughters and then plunged a dagger into his own heart. He couldn't bear the idea of what the bastard king and his men would do to those girls.

"Beatriss threatened that if I did not agree to come up with a plan to protect the young girls of Lumatere, she would refuse me access to her child. A child whose first word was 'Isaboe.' It was our earliest indication that the heir and Vestie had walked the sleep together. We were stunned by the knowledge that it was the princess who had lived and not the prince. When I argued that there was nothing I could do, Beatriss spoke about the potion my mother had once given her. She left me no choice but to take in the young girls. Unbeknownst to many, Beatriss of the Flatlands is quite a bully when she sets her mind to it. One can imagine who she learned that from," Tesadora said snidely, looking at Trevanion.

"You had a choice," Finnikin said. "You protected the priestess of Lagrami and her novices long before that night."

"Don't paint too sentimental a picture of me, young man," Tesadora said sharply. "It will only make you look like a fool." Her expression was hard, and Finnikin could tell that she had said as much as she was going to. She stood up to walk them to the entrance.

"We will be questioning the baker tonight," Trevanion said as they followed her.

"I doubt that very much," Tesadora said.

Sir Topher and Finnikin exchanged glances.

"The queen has already arranged for his release," she advised them.

"Is that what you convinced her to do?" Finnikin asked angrily.

Tesadora gave a humorless laugh. "I hear the queen allows only one person to convince her, Finnikin."

"Once the queen knows what took place in the dungeons—" Finnikin began.

"There is little that takes place in this kingdom that the queen does not know about," she said, a glint of victory in her eyes. "I would take her advice, Finnikin, and concern yourself less with truth and more on what is for the greater good of her people."

Finnikin shivered as he realized the truth. He saw by their expressions that Sir Topher and Trevanion had come to the same conclusion. This was no random act from vengeance-seeking Forest Dwellers. The poisoning of the impostor king and his men had come from the highest office in the kingdom.

"Where is she?" he asked, as Moss approached them. "Where is she?"

"Remember your place," Trevanion said firmly. "In Lumatere the queen rules, Finnikin."

"Perri has taken her to the Monts," Moss said quietly. Finnikin was on his horse before another word was spoken.

Trevanion felt Tesadora's furious stare as Finnikin rode away.

"Remember his place?" she said angrily. "For the sake of this kingdom, gentlemen, I am hoping that you have not prepared your boy to remember his place among royalty, but rather to recognize it alongside the queen."

"A very hard task indeed with your mother's premonition ringing in his head since he was a child of eight," Sir Topher replied.

"The boy remembers her words the way he wants to remember them," she said, "but the man must understand them the way they were intended."

Finnikin caught up with the queen and Perri as they rested at the foot of the mountains. Isaboe was sitting next to the guard, her back against a weeping willow, her knees tucked under her chin. The ride had done nothing to quell Finnikin's rage. When Perri saw the horse's fast approach, he was on his feet in an instant, his sword ready. Isaboe stood behind him, her eyes dark and piercing. Perri returned his sword to its scabbard and she stepped past him as Finnikin dismounted.

"I hope you've come to tell me that Froi's been found," she said, anger lacing her words. She wore a violet dress, scooped at the neck with gold trimmings, falling loose to her ankles to give her the freedom to mount and ride a horse.

"What have you done?" he asked, his fury barely contained.

Her hands were clenched. "What I needed to do," she responded.

"We needed proof," he spat, "of what Charyn had planned. Yet you ruin any chance of bringing to justice those who were responsible by destroying the ones who could prove it."

There was so little guilt in her eyes that it fueled his rage. Over her shoulder, he could see Perri poised for action, a look of warning on the guard's face. Finnikin knew he would be flat on the ground the moment he stepped out of line.

"You feel no remorse?" he said. "Regret nothing?"

Hatred blazed in her eyes. "I regret not being able to watch them suffer. I heard it was long," she said through clenched teeth, "and my heart sang to hear just how painful."

"Belegonia has been—"

"Wanting a chance to invade Charyn for as long as this land has existed," she shouted. "Waiting for any justification."

"They have every right to know that Charyn was planning an attack on them through us."

"Belegonia will not care for those who are caught in the middle, Finnikin. They will take Charyn, not out of revenge but for what they can get from that kingdom. And they will use Lumatere as the pathway."

"So the truth stays hidden?" he asked.

"Better than a truth revealed that will lead to war involving our three kingdoms. Not to mention Sarnak and every other kingdom on our borders. Let Charyn pay, Finnikin. Let Trevanion and Perri do what they do best. Let's not pretend the captain and Perri know nothing about slipping into a palace and cutting the throat of a savage foreign king who deserves to die. But do not ask me to sacrifice my people."

"That's called assassination, isn't it, Perri?" Finnikin called out to the guard. "To do exactly what was done to our king and —"

"Don't!" she shouted, sobbing the word. Behind her, Perri shook his head at Finnikin in warning.

"Do not compare the slaughter of my family to the killing of the monster who planned it and the traitor who carried it out. We are not ordering the deaths of innocents here. We are taking revenge, while ensuring that Lumatere is not bled dry."

"Your people need to know the truth, Isaboe."

"What my people need to know is that the beast and his men who razed our kingdom to the ground are dead. That they suffered. That the beast and his men who raped their wives and children no longer exist. Do you know how they punished the men who dared to stand up to them? How they kept them from resisting? Do you know how they came for their young daughters in daylight hours? Do you know how many drowned themselves in the river rather than endure what was happening? And I felt every one," she sobbed, hitting her chest with her fist. "Every single one, Finnikin. Oh, that leaders of kingdoms should feel the pain of every one of their citizens who they send out to fight their wars. Put me out of my misery now, rather than allow me to feel the deaths of my people fighting for such a truth to be known."

Finnikin gripped the hand pounding her chest, and she leaned toward him, emotion strangling her voice. "If you want to help run my kingdom, you do so from by my side and not from your rock village," she said.

"What makes you presume that I have a desire to run your kingdom?" he said coldly. But she was standing too close and he wanted to rest his forehead against hers. Take everything she was offering.

"Is it not what Seranonna predicted?" she asked quietly. "In the Forest when we were children? Light and dark. And what else was it that she said, Finnikin? What is it you fear so much?"

He shuddered. "Why don't you fear me?" he said, his fingers digging into her arm. "Why don't you fear me shedding your blood to be king?"

He saw her wince with pain and felt Perri's arm around his neck as he was pulled away.

"You are a fool," she said, the tears spilling down her cheeks. "Do you believe you are not man enough for the task? Perhaps I should give that privilege to the prince of Osteria, who begs to come calling to strengthen ties between our kingdoms."

Finnikin bit his tongue until he tasted blood. Something savage inside him wanted to kill any man who dared touch her.

"But know this, Finnikin. I will despise you for the rest of your life if you force me to take another man to my bed as my king."

She walked away and he ached to follow, but Perri refused to let him go, his lips close to Finnikin's ear. "Speak to the queen or touch her like that again," he threatened in a quiet voice, "and you will find yourself, on your father's orders, guarding the barren border at Sendecane."

Finnikin broke free, his breath ragged. "Make sure you leave someone behind to protect her as you would, Perri. For it looks like sometime soon you're going to Charyn," he said bitterly. "To kill a king."

"If that is what my queen wants of me, Finnikin, that is what I will do."

Chapter 29

A week passed and then another. Cottages began to appear, built from mud bricks and straw, their roofs thatched and floors earthen. But the exiles had slept in worst conditions and many of them relished the idea of having a door and space and privacy. Those who had been trapped inside became accustomed to greeting their new neighbors. In each village, plowing and planting continued and routines began to be reestablished.

One morning, Trevanion stood with Perri and Moss watching Lord August work the land alongside his young sons and the villagers. The sun was hot, but August looked content among the men. Their lives were beginning to return to something close to normal, and talk of crops and planting at times erupted into healthy arguments. Trevanion noticed the workers seemed to enjoy the task of turning over the soil with the hand-held plow, despite the demanding nature of the work.

"Where are the oxen?" Perri asked, holding out a hand to take the plow from Lord August.

"We share them with the rest of the Flatlands on rotation," the Duke said, wiping sweat from his forehead. "I think the village of Clough has them today."

"Sennington was extensively damaged, Augie," Trevanion said. "Can you not have Abie convince Lady Beatriss to move her village to Fenton? They lost most of their people in the fever camps. There are acres of fertile land with no one to work it."

Lord August gave a small humorless laugh. "Have you been in the same room as my wife and Lady Beatriss and Tesadora?" he asked. "Terrifying. The moment I tried to make such a suggestion, I was cut down. Then I displayed greater stupidity by suggesting to the viper Tesadora that since the queen had been removed from her cloister and the guards were no longer there, I could request some sort of protection for her and her girls. Just in case." He shook his head, shuddering. "I'm sure she cast a spell on me with one flick of her eyelid."

"You're scared of the women?" Trevanion asked, amused.

"I am not ashamed to say so, and you are a fool if you're not," Lord August said pointedly.

"Lucian has volunteered to send the Monts down to work on Fenton," Perri said as he returned with the plow.

"I fear the boy is too young and does not have the heart to lead the Monts," Lord August said.

Trevanion shook his head. "He carried his father's body up that mountain over his shoulder, Augie. That has less to do with physical strength and more to do with heart. Finn has spent much time with him and his people, and they are doing what Monts do best. Getting on with life."

"I'm presuming Finnikin is not there now," Lord August said disapprovingly.

"He's in Sarnak. On palace business," Trevanion replied, frowning at Lord August's tone.

"On his own?" Perri asked.

"He took some of his lads from the village. Why are you so certain that he wasn't with the Monts?" Trevanion asked.

"Because the queen is with them, and some say that Finnikin can be found wherever the queen is not."

Trevanion bristled. "Another contribution from the women? If anyone has a problem with my son's movements, Augie, I will tell them to politely mind their own business, whether it's your wife or Tesadora."

"You left out Lady Beatriss," Moss said.

"I could not imagine Lady Beatriss concerning herself with Finnikin's business, but if the question arose, I would be just as firm with her."

"Finnikin needs to bring the queen home to the palace, Trevanion," Lord August pressed. "Not her Guard. Not Sir Topher. Finnikin. And Lucian of the Monts will need to be looked out for. He's still a young man who will have to work hard to gain people's confidence, no matter whose son he is. Those mountains are Charyn's entrance into our kingdom."

"Why are you telling us what we already know, Augie?" Perri asked tersely.

"I have Lucian looked out for," Trevanion said. "He has his uncles and his yata, and the Mont lads are under constant training."

"And who is guarding the novices of Sagrami?" Lord August continued. "It's too secluded out there in the west, and if we ever have a repeat of—"

"Tesadora and the novices are protected," Perri said firmly, "whether they know it or not. Men trained by me, Augie. So anyone who decides to walk into that part of the kingdom for no good reason may find himself with the sharp edge of a dagger across his throat. Now, do you have any other questions about the protection of this kingdom?"

Lord August stared from Perri to Trevanion and Moss. "Tell me our Perri's not sharing the viper's bed?" he asked Trevanion.

Moss chuckled. "Brave man indeed who strips himself bare in front of that one."

Trevanion saw Lady Abian walking down the path to the manor house on her return from the palace village.

"Gentlemen!" she called out with a wave.

They held up their hands in acknowledgment.

"Finnikin?" she asked. "Where is he? I have seen little of him, Trevanion."

"In Sarnak. On palace business," he called back. "I'll have him come see you as soon as he returns." He heard a snort of laughter beside him as Lady Abian shook her head in disapproval and proceeded toward the house.

"Oh, you really told her to mind her business," Perri mocked.

Later, Trevanion, Moss, and Perri traveled farther into the kingdom, as they had done each day since their return. Trevanion knew the people of Lumatere felt comforted by the presence of his men, and he made it a priority to ensure they were visible in as many villages as possible. He was careful, trying to find the fine line between authority and protection. It was Lady Abian who suggested that the Guard not wear formal uniforms. Both the exiles and those trapped inside had been victims of the violence delivered by guards across the land. Instead, they wore gray and blue, colors representing both goddesses.

In the afternoon, they reached a village at the edge of the Flatlands, where men and women worked together to prepare the soil. Before the others realized what was happening, Perri had leaped off his horse. "Froi," he said with satisfaction.

Trevanion sighed with relief. In addition to his own fondness for the boy, he had feared the queen's anguish if they had lost him.

Froi saw Perri and Moss coming toward him, and he couldn't stop the smile, couldn't stop the happiness he felt inside as he put down his tools. And then Perri was grabbing him and they both pretended it was a tussle but really it was a hug.

"Where've you been, Froi?"

"Been here. Working a strip," he told them.

"Has our boy got some crazy notion he'll earn enough to buy a small pocket himself?" Moss asked, and Froi liked the way Moss said "our boy" as if Froi belonged to them instead of belonging to no one. Sometimes, during their travels, he had imagined there was someone inside Lumatere searching for him. But there had been no mother like Lady Abian or father like Trevanion waiting. No kin who recognized him as theirs.

Perri ruffled his hair. "Moss, go see the bailiff and tell him Froi's coming with us."

Perri began to walk back to the road, and Froi followed to where he could see the captain astride his horse. But then Froi looked back to where his work lay unfinished and it made him sad because there had been something about the touch of earth in his hands that made him feel worthwhile.

"Disappear like that again, boy, and I will send you back to Sarnak, where they found you," the captain growled when Froi reached him. "Where I'm certain Finnikin is roaming the streets looking for you as we speak."

Froi felt his eyes smart, but he kept his anger and hurt inside because anger made him want to spit and that was the last thing he wanted to do to the captain.

"What have you been doing, Froi?"

"Plowing, Captain," he said quietly.

"Plowing?"

"Soon they'll begin the planting. Barley and oats and onions and cabbage. There they'll plant ten apple, five pear, and two cherry trees," he said, pointing up to the mountains. "The ones donated by Osteria."

"Get on my horse, Froi," the captain said, holding out a hand to him. "You belong with us."

And as much as Froi wanted to belong with them, he stared at the hand the captain was holding out to him but didn't take it. "To do what?" he asked.

"The Guard protects the kingdom, Froi. The people of Lumatere honor us by allowing us to protect them," Perri explained.

"But I can't," he said, and he could feel the captain and Perri staring at him and he wanted to say all the right things to them. He had tried to explain to one of the workers the other day how being with the Guard and Evanjalin and the priest-king and Finnikin and Sir Topher had made him feel, but he hadn't been able to find the words for it.

"That's respect," she told him later when she understood what he was trying to say. He had never heard that word before and although he knew what he felt for them was fierce, it didn't mean he could protect the kingdom with them.

When the captain leaned down to hoist him onto the horse, Froi tried to speak but it came out like a whisper. "How can I be part of the Guard and protect this kingdom when I feel noting for it? Captain Trevanion, they made a mistake. Finnikin and Evanjalin and Sir Topher. I'm not from here. I can tell from the way the others watch me. It's as if they sense fings of me. Fings I don't know myself." He stared down at the ground because he didn't want the captain to see his face.

"Everyone looks at each other that way these days, Froi. Brothers and sisters, fathers and sons. Even those who were once lovers," the captain said.

Froi looked from Perri to the captain. "How can I die for any of the Guard? It's what you're supposed to do, isn't it? If somefing happens?"

Perri nodded.

"I wouldn't," he said truthfully. "I'd protect myself first."

Moss approached them, looking happy, but the smile left his face when he saw their expressions.

"You're Lumateran, Froi. You'd fight for this kingdom," Perri said, but Froi shook his head.

"It's just a word. Lumatere. Feel nofing for it, except for this patch of land I've worked on."

"Nothing. For no one?" Moss asked.

Froi thought for a moment. "I fink I'd die for Evanjalin. Probably Finnikin too."

"She is the queen," the Captain said firmly. "She's not Evanjalin, Froi."

"Whoever she is, I fink I'd die for her and Finnikin. Because that time in Sarnak when she came searching, sometimes I fink she didn't come back for that ring. It was for me." He realized it was the first time he had ever said anything like that out loud and it made him think of saying other things in his head that were the truth. "But I wouldn't die for anyone else. Not even you free or the priest-king or Sir Topher. I'd sell you out the first moment someone convinced me."

The captain gave a short laugh of disbelief, but he seemed amused all the same, and then Perri joined in.

"He would," Perri agreed. "I believe him."

Froi felt ashamed, but Perri flicked him under the chin with his thumb. "So would have I, Froi. At your age."

"I don't understand," Moss said. "Finnikin's lads from the village are begging us to let them train with the Guard."

"Climb up on my horse," the captain said with a sigh, his arm still extended.

Froi didn't dare disobey, and with a heavy heart he held on as they rode toward the palace. As he took in the Flatlands on both sides of the road, he realized that it scared him, all these people and all this work they had to do and the way some of the villagers who had worked around him would drop their planting tools and just cry. Men, too, not just women, and it was a different crying from what Lady Celie had done in Belegonia. It was the type of crying that gave him tears and most times he pretended there was dirt in his eyes. Deep down, Froi wanted it to go back to the time when it was just them hiding in the woods and there weren't so many people to feel sad for.

The captain slowed down at a Flatland village where everyone seemed to be working, and he could see the towers over the trees in the close distance and he knew they were almost entering the palace village.

"It's Lord August's estate," the captain explained. "Here is the deal, Froi. You can work the land, but we choose whose land. You continue your lessons with the priest-king. You make the queen happy."

Froi looked at him, not understanding.

"Perhaps you are right. You've not known this kingdom long. It takes time to love a land and a people and want to protect it, especially when those around you have eyes full of mistrust. It would be wrong for us to expect more from you now."

"But one day we will ask you again," Perri continued.

Froi stared at them. "But if I am the enemy?"

"Enemy to whom, Froi? To our queen?" Perri asked.

"Never. Not her."

"Then that is a start, Froi."

*** and then looked at the village of Sayles. "As long as I don't have to live inside the big house with Lord Augie and Lady Abian," he said. "Because if they're going to spend every night screwing—"

"Froi!"

The captain laughed for the second time that day, and Froi liked the sound of it.

"Queen's orders that you stay close," Perri said. "Do us a favor, Froi. Do not defy the queen's orders. She is frightful these days up in those mountains."

Froi nodded. "I'll stay. But you're wrong about the queen," he said, swinging off the captain's horse, looking out at the village he was to be a part of.

"About her being frightful these days?"

"No. About her being in the mountains. I saw her. This morning, but I kept my distance. Didn't want to shame her. She was wif the Monts and everyone around me ran to the road to greet her. She was off to help in some village. Bal... Bal... ?"

"Balconio," the captain said. He cursed as he exchanged looks with the others. "I'll go," he said. "Perri, can you go back to the palace and escort Sir Topher to the village of Balconio?"

Froi looked up at the captain, confused. "Everyone wants Finnikin to bond with her and not that prince from Osteria. Why is Finnikin not wif her?"

The captain sighed. "Same reason as you, Froi."

"Because he's not worvy?"

The captain placed a hand on Froi's shoulder as they made their way down the path toward Lord August's house. Froi liked the feel of it and understood why Finnikin always puffed out his chest when his father was around.

"He is in the queen's eyes," the captain said, "and she measures worth better than anyone I know."

Trevanion saw the queen the instant he arrived. She was dressed in peasant clothing like those around her, and she was hacking at the earth with the same determination he had seen when she walked ahead of them on their journey to Lumatere. One of the villagers with her pointed to Trevanion, and she turned and watched as he dismounted and strode toward her. He saw the slump in her shoulders as if she knew the time had come. Her guards appeared beside her, and Trevanion grabbed hold of them both in anger.

"You said they weren't to let me out of their sight, Captain Trevanion, and they haven't," the queen said calmly.

"They do not need defending, Your Highness," he said, glaring at the two guards before letting them go.

She handed the hoe to the worker alongside her. "Can you continue without me, Naill?"

"Of course, my queen."

She followed Trevanion to the manor house. "There's much work to be done here," she said.

"Yes," he acknowledged, "but not by you. We still have the borders closed for fear of reprisal from those kingdoms who have not yet acknowledged your reign," he explained. "There are collaborators of the impostor king who are yet to be rounded up. The Forest Dwellers have not come out of hiding."

"If I return to the palace, you'll lock me up like you and Sir Topher did that time in Pietrodore," she accused. "Or have me surrounded by at least ten of the Guard."

"Yes," he said truthfully. "Because if something happens to you, my queen, I don't think we would survive."

"Then I must teach our people how to survive," she said. "Because they can't keep giving up every time something happens to their king or queen."

"Sir Topher's on his way," he said, and the sadness in her eyes stopped him from saying any more.

Later, when the sun began to disappear and the wind felt fierce on their skin, Sir Topher sat on the hill alongside the queen, watching the workers below.

"Next summer we will have a surplus of grain and barley and oats, and all the kingdoms around us will be keen to import our produce," she said. "The ambassador has also managed to secure interest from the Belegonians for produce from the river, and the export from the mines will please those kingdoms who no longer want to deal with the Sorelians for tin. And we have enough in the treasury to keep our people from starving until then. Within two years, Sir Topher, we will be on the road to some kind of prosperity."

"And perhaps at war," he said soberly.

"I walked through the meadow in the village of Gadros," she continued as if he had not spoken, "and I imagined that it could look like the one near the crossroads where I took ill with the priest-king. So I'm going to plant hollyhocks and wild strawberries and daffodils and daises and calendula and columbine." Despite her words, she was weeping and he forgot all protocol and placed his arm around her.

"I've crossed this kingdom many times over the last few weeks, Sir Topher," she whispered through her tears. "So many people. So many sad stories. To be responsible for so many souls. How did my father do it?"

"With the same expression on his face each day as you have now, my queen. With fear and with hope."

She wiped away her tears.

"Isaboe," he said gently. "These people do not need another peasant to help plow their fields. They want their queen. They want her in the palace, leading them."

"And a king?" she sniffed.

"I believe you have already chosen a king," he said quietly.

She rolled her eyes. "When I'm with the Monts, he hides himself in the Rock Village, when I'm in the Rock Village, he's in the Flatlands, and when I return to the palace, he'll hide himself with the Monts. I've become accustomed to passing him by."

"While he's been... traveling around the kingdom, he has written the constitution of the new Lumatere, which he wants you to look over, and I think he has convinced the king of Sarnak to try those who were responsible for the massacre of our people."

"In the Sarnak royal court or here?"

"Negotiations are taking place as we speak. Last correspondence I received from Finnikin had the king of Sarnak inviting us to the palace. We will be advising you not to attend, of course. Not until we know it is perfectly safe. Finnikin is also against the visit from Osteria and he's right. It's too soon. When we allow visitors into Lumatere, we must look as if we are truly back on our feet."

She sighed and stood, looking over the village where some of the guards were helping to thatch cottage roofs.

"When he returns, Isaboe, he will have made the most important decision, not only of his life but for this kingdom. You must have patience."

"Ask me to also maintain my pride, because it slowly dwindles away each day that he does not come to see me."

"You know how he feels about you, Isaboe."

"I know nothing," she said sadly. "He gives me nothing and I cannot rule with nothing. But I know what my people want. For me to have a king. So a king I will give them, even if he's not my first choice."

Trevanion waited for them on the road to the palace with several of the Guard and the horses. "Will you mount the horse, my queen?" he asked as she approached, holding the reins out to her.

"I'd prefer to walk," she said quietly. It was the road the impostor king and his men had used to take the women and girls of Lumatere to the palace. The road where they used to hang the children of men who chose to rebel.

"It would be easier for us if you rode, my queen," Sir Topher suggested.

She stopped for a moment, shame on her face as she looked up at both men. "If the truth be told ... I don't think I'm ready to return ... to my home."

Trevanion was silent, remembering the first time he had reentered the palace. It was still full of memories of the horror he had witnessed that terrible night all those years ago.

"We have prepared the eastern wing for you, Isaboe," Sir Topher said gently. "It has not been touched for the last five decades."

She nodded, relief in her expression. "If I promise to return on the next day of rest, then we can invite the people to celebrate with me. It could be a celebration of our journey back to some kind of normality." Her eyes held a plea.

"That is five days from now," Sir Topher said reluctantly.

"The priestess of Lagrami has moved her novices back to their original cloister and is keen to have me visit. The cloister is not far from the palace, so it may be the perfect place to stay until then. I can visit the people of the palace village. They were once my neighbors, and they treated my sisters and brother and me as if we belonged to them." She fought to hold back her tears.

Sir Topher caught Trevanion's eye and nodded. "I will ride ahead to the cloister and have Lady Milla organize the festivities to celebrate your return to the palace."

As they traveled on, Trevanion politely repeated his request for her to mount the horse.

"I hear you found Froi," she said, politely ignoring it. "Keep an eye on him, Captain Trevanion. Let him play peasant farmer, but remind him he belongs to the queen."

"He doesn't think he's worthy."

She stopped for a moment. "Froi? Humble?"

A hint of a smile touched Trevanion's lips. "For a moment or two."

"When I choose to call him back, he will have no right to refuse."

"Yet you haven't exercised the same right to call Finnikin back."

She stopped again. "You speak out of place, Captain, and too much conversation today has revolved around your absent son."

He nodded. "And for that I apologize."

"For what part are you apologizing?" she asked.

"For what part would you like me to apologize?"

She held his gaze, and he remembered this steadfast look of hers from the time in the prison mines. He sighed, gazing beyond her to where the Flatlands were beginning to look rich and dark, the soil in perfectly aligned mounds.

"I belong to queen and country first," he said after a while, "but I am his father, Isaboe. You will have to pardon me on this occasion for speaking bluntly, but I will always want to tear out the heart of anyone who causes him pain, and whether you're the queen or Evanjalin, you have that power. You always have. For feeling that way, I apologize."

"And you think I'd use such power?"

He didn't answer, and she continued to walk.

"When the time comes to tear out the heart of anyone who causes him pain, Captain Trevanion, know this," she said fiercely. "I will fight you to be first in line."

After a moment, he smiled. "Will you mount the horse, my queen?"

"No," she replied, also with a smile.

They entered the village of Sennington, and the villagers ran toward the road to greet her.

"Is Lady Beatriss home, Tarah?" she asked one of the peasant women, whose cheeks flushed with pleasure at the queen using her name.

"Should be soon, my queen. She's down by the river with Vestie."

The queen smiled her thanks and took the small gifts made for her by the children. "Could you locate Lady Beatriss, Captain Trevanion?" she asked without looking up from the villagers. "I would like to rest here before I present myself to the priestess."

Trevanion knew exactly where to find Beatriss. He had watched her disappear behind the manor house and walk down to the river many times. Part of him wanted to keep his distance and call out rather than join her by that tree, but the yearning inside him was too strong and he found himself walking toward her. Yet he could not go all the way. He knew what lay before him. A grave. With more buried than their dead baby. Like most days, Beatriss was with the child, and he wondered at her ability to adore a reminder of the times her body had been savaged by the impostor and his men.

"The queen is waiting to see you, Lady Beatriss," he said from his position on the slope.

She nodded, as if it was the most natural thing for him to be there, and then walked toward him. "She is returning to the palace?" she asked.

"Yes."

The child looked at him from where she stood by the grave, and he returned her stare, this strange miniature Beatriss. But then she went back to busying herself with her seeds.

"Your silence makes things difficult, Trevanion," Beatriss said quietly. "It would be wrong to pretend we have nothing to say, so I will be the one to speak. I cannot go back to being who I was, or desire what I once felt. The thought of a man touching me, any man ..." She swallowed, unable to finish, and he nodded, choking back something inside of him that ached to be let loose. He turned to walk away, feeling as if his insides were splintering.

Her voice stopped him. "I woke with your name on my lips every morning. Like a prayer of hope. For now, that's all I can offer."

He hesitated, remembering something Finnikin had said to him on their journey. That somehow, even in the worst of times, the tiniest fragments of good survive. It was the grip in which one held those fragments that counted.

"Then for now, my Lady Beatriss," he said, "what you have to offer is more than enough for me. I'll wait."

She sighed and shook her head. "How long will you wait, Trevanion? A man like you?"

"A man like me will wait for as long as it takes."

They stood and watched the child sprinkle seeds around the grave, humming a sweet tune to herself. When she dropped the little cup that held the seeds, Trevanion walked over to where she stood by the headstone and read the words inscribed upon it: Evanjalin. Beloved child of Trevanion and Beatriss.

He bent to pick up the cup, placing it into the child's hand. On the earth beside the grave was a stray seed. As he laid it on the rich mound of dirt, he felt tiny fingers press into his.

"Like this," Vestie said, patting his hand. "So the seed can take."

Chapter 50

That night, Finnikin of the Rock dreamed he was to sacrifice the rest of his life for the royal house of Lumatere. The message came to him in a dream from Balthazar and his sisters as he slept in the cottage of the queen's yata in the mountains. Yata did not seem surprised the next morning. "They visit me often, my babies do," she said, pressing a kiss to his temple. "It's time for you to go home, Finnikin. You do not belong in these mountains. You have other places to be."

Five days past, he had returned from Sarnak and somehow found himself traveling to the Monts. He stayed, completing the census and the trade agreements with several of their neighboring kingdoms. As he left Yata's home that morning, he knew that a part of his life was complete and that whatever path he chose, he would experience the ache of unfulfilled dreams. For a moment he allowed himself to feel regret at the thought of never building a cottage by the river with Trevanion. Or living the life of a simple farmer connected to the earth. Or traveling his kingdom, satisfying the nomad he had become. To be Finnikin of the Rock and the Monts and the River and the Flatlands and the Forest. To be none of those at all.

Yet he also knew that to lose the queen to another man would be a slow torture every day for the rest of his life.

Lucian walked with him down the mountain. "I will meet with her this evening," Lucian told him, "when we celebrate her return to the palace."

Finnikin did not respond.

"She said it's cruel that everyone she loves is together while she is miserably alone. I could have told her you were turning into a miserable bastard yourself, but instead I told her how much time you've spent working on the archives, flirting with your scribe. Your sweet and passive scribe who lets you be in charge."

Finnikin shook his head, amused in spite of himself.

"I think she was jealous, you know," Lucian continued, waving to a family of Monts who had settled further down the mountain. "Said she would have me beheaded if I said another word."

"We don't behead people in Lumatere," Finnikin said dryly.

"Ah, Finnikin, in Lumatere we do whatever our queen wants."

At the base of the mountain, Lucian embraced him and handed him a package. "Yata wants you to give this to Lady Beatriss of the Flatlands. Can you find time to pass by today before the celebrations?"

Celebrations indeed, Finnikin thought bitterly. It would be a long time before the kingdom remembered how to celebrate.

Finnikin knocked on the front door of the manor house in Sennington, the package under his arm. When there was no response, he entered the house and walked toward the kitchen.

"Finnikin?" he heard Lady Beatriss call, her tone warm and welcoming. He reached the doorway but stopped when he saw Tesadora standing by the stove, her arms folded, an expression of disapproval and hostility on her face. Lady Abian sat with Lady Beatriss at the table.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, cursing himself for his bad timing. "But Yata of the Monts requested that I pass by this way to give you a package." He placed it on the table as the three women stared at him.

"Stay, Finnikin," Lady Beatriss said. "Drink tea with us. You must be exhausted after your travels, and you'll need to rest before tonight."

"Your appearance is a disgrace," Tesadora said sharply.

He touched his hair self-consciously. It resembled tufts of lamb's wool. Yata had managed to braid it, although she had found it difficult to separate the knotted strands. The color had dulled to a murky shade.

"I will have it taken care of tomorrow," he conceded.

"Sit," Tesadora said firmly. "You are fortunate that I have time today."

Fortunate indeed, he thought. He reluctantly sat, and Lady Beatriss handed Tesadora a cloth to place around his neck.

Tesadora tugged at his hair as she cut at it with a knife. It was easy to hate her. There was no gentleness in her hands, no softness in her eyes, despite the beauty of her face. He watched the thick clumps of his hair carpet the floor. Already he felt naked with half of it gone. As he went to feel the bristles of his hair, Tesadora slapped his hand away.

He stared at the package on the table and then at Lady Beatriss. He realized too late that she had expressed no interest in it. She looked at him solemnly.

"What is it that you fear, Little Finch?" she asked gently.

"I fear that the queen accuses me of running the kingdom from my rock village, yet she runs it from the hearts of you women, along with her yata," he said, anger in his voice. "Is this where you planned the poisoning of the impostor king?" There was silence.

"No," Lady Abian said finally. "But if such a thing were to be spoken about, Finnikin, it would have been in my parlor. Next to the room where my three sons play. Oh, to think of a world where I would have to give them up to a futile war."

"Why is it that you keep our queen waiting?" Tesadora demanded.

Finnikin longed to leave, but Tesadora had the knife against his scalp.

"I believe I know what it is, Finnikin," Lady Beatriss said. "To be king would mean your father would one day lie prostrate at your feet."

Tesadora held him down by his remaining hair as he tried to leap to his feet. "I will never allow my father to lie prostrate at my feet!"

She kept a firm hold on his hair. "Then you are not the man for our queen. So let her go, Finnikin. Go to her now and tell her that she must choose a king. When she hears it from you, she will know there is no future between you. She will not listen to anyone else. The prince of Osteria will have no problem with your father lying prostrate at his feet and in time she will find happiness with him. I hear he's a strapping boy."

Finnikin snorted.

"Nothing will make Lumaterans happier than to know our beloved queen is being taken care of by one who loves her," she continued, pulling viciously at his hair. "Waking each day in the arms of a man who will keep her marriage bed warm and fertile."

He realized he did not hate Tesadora. He despised her. "What would a novice of Sagrami know about a bed being kept warm and fertile, Tesadora?" he sneered. "It seems to me that you hate all men."

"Never presume to know my needs or who warms my bed! And if you believe it is men I hate, you are wrong. I despise those who use force and greed as a means of control. Unfortunately for your gender, such traits are found more often in the hearts of men than women. But place me in a room with those women who aligned themselves with the bastard king and I promise there will be a bloodbath I would relish soaking in." She grabbed him by the chin. "What is it about you that stirs the blood of the strongest in our land? For she is the strongest, make no doubt of that."

"Do not underestimate her vulnerabilities," Finnikin said, fuming. "I've seen them. They can destroy her."

"Do you see my hair?" Tesadora asked, tugging at the white strands. "It is this color because I walked some of those sleeps to protect Vestie from the horror of what she would see. This is what the darkness and the terror of the human soul did to me. But the queen? It is not her youth that keeps her hair from going white at such images of horror, Finnikin. It is her strength."

He was silent for a moment. "Then why was she almost lost to me ... to us," he corrected himself, "when we entered the kingdom?"

"Because your grief at what you saw in those moments was too much for her to bear. Your pain made her weak. Her pain made you strong. Light and dark. Dark and light." Her ice-blue eyes stared into him. "I wonder what it was that my mother saw in you that time in the forest. To look at a boy of eight and see such strength in his character. Enough strength for our beloved girl who would one day rule. Do you remember what Seranonna said to you? Because I remember clearly what she told me that very night when I was no more than your age now."

"Her blood will be shed for you to be king," he said quietly.

"No." Tesadora shook her head. "For you to be her king. There's more than one way for you to shed her blood, fool!"

The women stared at him, and he felt his face redden. Lady Beatriss smiled and it embarrassed him even more.

"It's why my mother cursed you with Isaboe's memories as you entered our kingdom. Not as a punishment. 'His pain shall never cease.' How can it, Finnikin, when your empathy for her is so strong? It's so our beloved will never feel alone. Have you not seen her in those moments, Finnikin? When she disappears inside herself and almost lets the darkness consume her. I saw it in the cloister when she was with us. It chilled me to the bone. Your power lies in never allowing her to get lost in those voices."

He remembered a morning the week before, when he was passing the royal entourage on one of their visits to the River people. He watched her from a distance, the distance he had carved out between them since he had discovered her true identity. For one moment, she seemed removed from what was taking place around her. She stood completely still, her gaze fixed on a distant point. She had gone inside herself, as she'd done many times on their journey back to Lumatere. And now he knew what it was that weighed her body down. The agony of those voices he heard as they entered the main gate. The ones she had lived with for years. So he whistled from where he stood and her body stiffened with awareness and slowly she turned in his direction. He held her gaze, knowing her moment of despair had already passed.

And there it was, he thought, as he looked at the women in Beatriss's kitchen. The memory of a look that spoke to him of power. His. A look that made him want to kneel at the feet of his queen and worship her.

Because it made him feel like a king. "I must go," he said huskily.

"Not in those clothes," Lady Abian said, unwrapping Yata's package.

He walked toward the palace, wearing perfectly cut trousers, a crisp white shirt, and a soft leather cape, his hair cropped to his crown. Many Lumaterans traveled with him, talking quietly, shyly greeting strangers whose paths they crossed on their way to the celebration. He heard them speak of their weariness, but stronger was the desire to be there for their beloved Isaboe, so she could feel the presence of a mother who loved and a father who doted and sisters who cared and a brother who teased. No one was more an orphan to the land than their queen.

He hurried past the priest-king's home, where the holy man sat with Froi, greeting those who were traveling to the palace.

"Finnikin?" the priest-king called out.

"I can't stop, blessed Barakah. Can we speak later?" He could see turrets in the near distance, and his pulse quickened.

"Do not approach her unless you have something worthwhile to say," the priest-king advised.

Finnikin returned to where the priest-king sat, and knelt before him. "And if you hear word that I have said something worthwhile, blessed Barakah, will you sing the Song of Lumatere at first light?" he asked.

The holy man broke into a grin. "On my oath to the goddess complete."

Finnikin nodded and sprang back to his feet. "Finnikin?" Froi said.

"Yes, Froi."

"You must give her somefing." The boy's eyes were bright.

"If you offer the ruby ring, you die, my friend."

Froi laughed and shook his head. "Not offering the ruby ring to no one."

"Then I have nothing to give but myself."

He reached the outer edge of town where the bridge marked the end of the Flatlands and the beginning of the palace village. Trevanion was there with some of his men, watching one of the lads training. Finnikin knew that tonight the area around the palace and the queen would be heavily guarded, three circles of guards who would slow him down.

He was suddenly conscious of his appearance. He mumbled a greeting to his father, then called out over his shoulder, "I'll come by later." He crossed the bridge where the river flowed at great speed, as if its life force had not been extinguished for ten long years.

"Finnikin?" he heard his father say. Just his name. But the emotion in that one word made him turn and walk back to where Trevanion stood. He took his father's face in both his hands and kissed him. Like a blessing.

"Your mother walks that path with you," Trevanion said. "With such pride that as I speak... it fills my senses with things I can't put into words. Go," he added gruffly, "or you'll have my Guard thinking I'm soft."

Finnikin broke into a run through the village square, weaving his way among the Lumaterans before him. As the path leading up to the palace became steeper, he could see over the roofs of the cottages on either side, all the way to the land where the Rock Village stood to the west and the mountains to the north.

At least ten guards were stationed at the portcullis of the palace, and Finnikin's arrival was met with a chorus of jeers and laughter. He expected nothing less from his father's men. Kisses were blown his way, accompanied by mock whistles of appreciation. He thanked the gods that Aldron was not among them, for his ridicule would have been the loudest. There were taunts and high-pitched declarations of love as Moss grabbed Finnikin, rubbing his knuckles over Finnikin's short berry-colored hair.

In the palace grounds Finnikin heard some of the villagers call out his name in greeting, while others whispered it with feverish excitement. The courtyard on the northwest corner was set up with trestle tables, and palace staff placed huge wooden casks of wine alongside platters of roast peacocks, wood pigeons, and rabbits. Another table was covered with pastries and sweet breads. In the corner by the rosebushes, minstrels played their tunes. The beat of the drum and the twang of the lute caused those around Finnikin to begin to sway, as if their bodies had not forgotten the beauty of music.

"Finnikin?" he heard Sir Topher call out from above. He looked up to where his mentor was standing on the balconette of the first floor, adjusting the cuffs on his sleeve.

"Sir Topher, I need to do something. I promise we'll speak later this night."

Finnikin felt his anxiety take over, his desperation to get to where he knew she stood beyond the cluster of people in the courtyard. He jumped onto one of the empty trestle tables and leaped up to the latticework of the balconette. From up high he could see her in the middle of the courtyard, elevated on a makeshift platform and surrounded by Lady Celie and the young novices of both Lagrami and Sagrami. The Guard formed a circle around them, and he could see Perri allowing people to pay their respects one or two at a time. There was gaiety in the air. She was a giggler, the queen was. He remembered that about Isaboe as a child. Her giggles back then would turn into snorts and then laughter. He saw traces of it in these girls, their eyes closed, their hands covering their mouths as they laughed at what she had said. There was no restraint in their mirth, despite the clucking of the overprotective hens of the royal court, who seemed to be battling the Guard to take control of the girls. He remembered what Beatriss had said to him one afternoon. "What was it about those beloved, spirited princesses?" she had asked, tears in her eyes. "I will miss them for the rest of my life. You know how it is with Isaboe, Finnikin? The way she intoxicates you with her hope and her capacity to love."

From his vantage point he could only stare. At the one who intoxicated him. There was a suppleness to her now that showed good health, curves that were lovingly outlined by the ivory silk dress she wore, its wide sleeves pinned to her side. In her thick dark curls she wore flower buds, and on her head was her mother's crown, sparkling with rubies.

She was gracious in her attention to her people. He could tell by the gestures of those who got close that they were complimenting her, and she was accepting the compliments with a poise and charm that had them beaming. She leaned forward to hear their stories, gently asking her guard, Aldron, to move back when he held up a hand of restraint to one who dared to step too close. Beatriss's child was clinging to her sleeve, jumping up for attention. He watched the way the queen gathered the child to her, letting Vestie cling to her waist as she swung the girl from side to side.

"Do not allow her to lead the negotiations, Finnikin. You know how stubborn she is."

Finnikin looked at the queen's First Man with irritation. "This is a private matter, Sir Topher," he said, perspiring from the effort it took to grip the lattice.

Sir Topher laughed, shaking his head. "Privacy? Finnikin, climb down that trellis, and this moment between you and me will be the last private moment you will ever experience."

But Finnikin no longer cared. Amid shouts of reprimand from the palace staff, he jumped onto the trestle table and then to the ground.

His seed will issue kings, but he will never reign. For she would be Queen of Lumatere. But he would be king to her.

He saw Lucian as he approached, standing with two of the Mont lads and Sefton, leaning against the northern wall and watching the throng before them.

"They are beautiful," Sefton said with a sigh. "But very haughty."

"What are the others doing?" one asked, trying to catch a glimpse of the platform through the crowd.

"Preening," Sefton said. "Lucy, the stonemason's daughter, won't even look my way these days, and we were neighbors as children."

"Patience," Finnikin said. "And it's not haughtiness or preening. They have suffered greatly, and if any of you hurt them in any way, you will have me to reckon with."

"I have no idea what Lady Celie's problem is," Lucian muttered. "We used to play together as children, and the other day I heard her refer to me with disdain as 'the Mont cousin.'"

Finnikin stared at him. "Lucian, you sat on her head when we were children. And wouldn't move until Balthazar counted to one hundred."

Lucian shrugged arrogantly. "A Mont girl would never carry such a grudge." He took in Finnikin's appearance, his dark eyes growing serious. "Wish our boy luck, lads," he said. "When the time is right, I will stand by your side to display her kin's support and approval. It's the Mont way, Cousin."

Finnikin clasped Lucian's hand tightly. Then he turned to make his way to the queen. As he pushed past the crowds of people, he heard Balthazar's chuckles and Isaboe's giggles and Lucian's snorts. He felt the love of his mother, who had died giving life to him, and took heart in the strength his father had shown during his darkest moments in the mines of Sorel. He heard the voices that had drowned his mind as he entered the kingdom, and within all the cries of anguish, he heard the songs of hope. He sensed the first babe of Beatriss and Trevanion and the presence of Vestie, the child who had walked with the queen and whose arm bore the answer to the question, "Is hope coming?" His name.

When he reached the circle of guards, Perri gestured for him to enter, but then grabbed him by the back of his cloak.

"I must confess that I dropped you on your head once or twice as a babe," Perri said, "and if you walk out of the palace grounds tonight without a title, I'll do it again."

Finnikin shrugged free. "My father will hear about this."

Perri chuckled and swiped him affectionately across the back of the head before propelling him toward the platform.

She saw him instantly, surprise on her face at his appearance. They faced each other in silence.

"My queen."

"Finnikin."

Aldron stood between them, his expression impassive. Lady Celie and the novices looked on solemnly. The crowd behind pushed forward, and he found himself shoulder to shoulder with the young guard.

"I can take over from here, Aldron," Finnikin said.

"Not your decision, Finnikin," Aldron said arrogantly. "Nor is it the queen's. I take my orders from Trevanion or Perri."

Isaboe stared at Finnikin, waiting. But the smirking Aldron stood in the way, and anger welled up inside of Finnikin. Everything he wanted to say was stuck at the back of his throat. "If I agree to become king," he began, "you ..."

She gasped with fury. "If you become king, I would prefer that you see it as something you want, rather than something you have to agree to."

He took a moment to regain his composure. He heard the hiss of whispering around him. "Finnikin of the Rock is speaking to the queen."

"If I become king," he began again, "will you promise me no more impromptu visits throughout the kingdom until the borders are secure?"

"If you become king, perhaps I will invite you along on one of my impromptu visits," she said airily, turning toward the novices, who looked at him as only novices trained by Tesadora could.

He shoved past Aldron and took hold of her arm to swing her back to face him. The music had begun to play again, and he could hardly hear himself. "Your security is not a laughing matter, Isaboe!"

"Do you see me laughing, Finnikin?"

Aldron yanked him away and the circle of girls closed around her, but he pushed through as gently as he could. "Excuse me," he said politely to Lady Celie before moving her aside. "If I become king, do I have to ask your guards and your ladies permission each time I want to touch you in my marriage bed?"

Her eyes blazed. "When you become my king, Finnikin, you can touch me whenever you want. Wherever you want."

He had the satisfaction of watching Aldron gulp. The novices gasped. Lady Celie giggled behind her hand.

He drew as close to Isaboe as he could, but still Aldron refused to move, and he could sense every pair of eyes in the kingdom watching them. "If I become king, will you sometimes humor me and allow me to win?"

"Isn't it enough that you have won me if you become king?"

A hint of a smile appeared on his lips.

"If you become king," she said, pushing Aldron's head to the side so she could have a better view of Finnikin, "you will work on the archives without the help of a sweet Mont girl as your scribe."

Finnikin's smile broadened. "If I become king, I will continue my work on the archives with my scribe, who happens to be Lucian's great-aunt, on his mother's side. Lots of hair on her chin. Looks like Trevanion in those days after the mines."

She bit back her own smile as he shoved Aldron's head out of the way for a better view of her. The guard growled. "If I become king, when the prince of Osteria comes visiting, I will be the one to meet with him," he said firmly.

"Pity. I hear he's a strapping boy."

"Strapping boys are overrated. Sometime there's nothing up here," he said, pointing to Aldron's head.

"And sometimes there's too much up there," she replied.

"If I become king, we declare war on Charyn," he said soberly.

"Without involving Belegonia."

He nodded. Suddenly he seemed to have more space. The girls had stepped back, but not Aldron. He reached over the guard's shoulder. "This I like," he said, touching her hair.

"I knew myself better without it," she said honestly. "I miss yours. It made you look softer. Kinder."

"Soft and kind will happen when you get rid of this between us," he said, shoving Aldron, "and allow me to guard you. Do you think you should warn him that I'm going to kiss you?"

He loved the flush that appeared on her face, and there was an intake of breath from the girls.

"Aldron," she said, clearing her throat, "if he agrees to become king, I'm going to let him kiss me. Please don't stop him."

Aldron thought for a moment and sighed, holding up his hand. "Wait there and do not move," he ordered Finnikin, before calling out to one of the other guards who stood on the platform. "Ask Perri if he's allowed to touch her if he's agreed to be king."

Suddenly a great cheer erupted from the crowd around them, and then another and another as the news spread across the courtyard. The novices formed a circle around Isaboe and Finnikin to keep everyone out, standing with their backs to the couple. For a brief moment they were in their own private cocoon.

"This hand says you spend the rest of your life with me," he said, holding out his left hand, "and this one says I spend the rest of my life with you. Choose."

She bit her lip, tears welling in her eyes. She took both his hands in hers and he shuddered. "I will die protecting you," he said.

There was a look of dismay on her face. "Just like a man of this kingdom, Finnikin. Talking of death, yours or mine, is not a good way to begin a—"

She gave a small gasp when he leaned forward, his lips an inch away from hers. "I will die for you," he whispered.

She cupped his face with her hands. "But promise you'll live for me first, my love. Because nothing we are about to do is going to be easy and I need you by my side."

Lady Celie cleared her throat. "Hurry up and kiss her, Finnikin. The Mont cousin is coming this way with alarming speed."

"Then turn the other way, Lady Celie," Finnikin murmured before placing an arm around the queen's waist and lifting her to him, his mouth capturing hers.

Hours later, when everyone seemed to have gone home except for Trevanion and the Guard, Finnikin and Lucian sat on the roof of one of the palace cottages with Isaboe sleeping between them. They spoke of the past. And of Balthazar. About the ten years in exile. About their fathers, and the mothers they missed. About the queen.

Finnikin heard a cry in the distance as a hint of light began to appear. He leaned down to whisper into her ear. "Wake up, Isaboe."

He helped her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her, his cloak engulfing them both. They watched the light crawl across the kingdom, illuminating their land piece by piece. Its mountain and rock, its river and flatlands, its forest, its palace. She placed his hand against the beat of her heart and he felt its steady pace.

"Listen," he whispered.

And then they heard the first words of the priest-king's song traveling across the kingdom, and they saw flickers of light appear across the landscape of their world.

"My king?"

"Yes, my queen?"

"Take me home."