“If the king is not speaking to the queen, he should have no control of her guardsorher army. In fact, any Emberish soldiers should be ordered to depart at once.”
“No! I don’t think she’s—”
“Callyn, we were atwar. If the king has become an adversary, he does not belong in the palace.” He looks at the window again. “We must take action sooner than I thought.”
I want to recoil, because I know what kind ofactionhe’s referring to. I think of the queen staring down at those fields. “She doesn’t want him to be an adversary,” I say quietly.
She wants her husband back.
But I don’t say that. I don’t think the queen would want me to.
Maybe that’s part of the conflict she’s feeling: duty to her country, to herpeople, against the duty she feels to the man she loves.
I wonder if my mother felt the same kind of conflict every time she walked out of the bakery to fight a war.
It’s the first time I’ve ever looked at my mother’s actions from this perspective, and I selfishly feel like she should have stayed withus, her family. I have to shove the thought away because it makes me feel like a terrible person.
“You said she wantsallies,” Alek is saying.
“For Syhl Shallow. Not to kill her husband.”
Alek makes an exasperated sound. “You are telling me that our queen is at odds with the king of Emberfall. You said she specifically sent you to ask me forallies.” He frowns. “I will send word to the queen that you should join me every day. We can say that I am introducing you around society so you will be better suited to take the princess on social visits. The king would likely hate it, but perhaps this will give her an opportunity to keep some secrets fromhim.”
“Why?”
“Because,” he says, leaning in, “it will give you an opportunity to bring messages from the queen to her most loyal supporters. And it will give them a chance to respond, without any risk of the king discovering her plans.”
“What plans?” I demand.
“I know you’re unfamiliar with court, but your mother was an officer in the army. You must think strategically. The king has separated himself from the queen, Callyn. Overmagic. I’m not entirely sure if you’re aware what’s being said here.”
NowI’mthe one to make an exasperated sound. “What exactly do you think is being said here?”
“Queen Lia Mara may not want an adversary, but she is actively preparing for war.”
As the carriage rattles along, my brain won’t stop reeling from Alek’s warnings. I remember the queen standing in the courtyard of my bakery in Briarlock, declaring to the soldiers who’d kidnapped her that they would regret harming her or her child. She’s so vibrant. So strong. I have no doubt that if she wanted to be at war with the king, we would be.
But is Alek right? Is she preparing for that inevitability, despite her sadness? Does she genuinely feel that the people want her to drive King Grey back out of Syhl Shallow? Does she think it would require awarto get him to leave?
Would it?
I remember how terrifying it was when Mother had to go off into battle . . . ?especially since she never returned. Nolla Verin pummels me into the dirt every day, but now I imagine an Emberish soldier doing it instead. I imagine my body lying dead in the dirt somewhere near the border, another soldier eventually carrying this pendant back to my sister, telling her thatI’mdead, too.
The thought makes my chest tighten. There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to set foot in the arena ever again. I want to run right back to mybakery, where the most complicated part of my day was making sure Nora didn’t get lost in a saucy romance novel while the pastries burned.
But that’s cowardly—and it’s shoved away by another part of me that feels like I should spend every waking minute in the arena. Maybe if I were better at fighting, I wouldn’t be at risk.
Then again, Mother was an exceptional soldier, and she died anyway.
I hate the track of these thoughts.
The carriage comes to a stop, and I turn away from Alek to peer through the gauzy window covering. We’ve come to another large manor house. This one features bricks of green and yellow, stretching so tall that I can’t see the top from inside the carriage, with windows that glitter in the sunlight. We’ve traveled far, because the mountains don’t seem quite as imposing from here. In the distance, I can hear a sharp, repetitive banging, but it’s different from what used to echo from Jax’s forge.
“Where are we?” I say softly.
“The Fifth House,” he says. “You will meet Lady Delmetia Calo.” He pauses. “You’ve seen her before. I recommended your bakery.”
That snaps my gaze back around to him, but a footman is already drawing open the door to the carriage, and he’s stepping out, offering me his hand.
