I blink, confused. “I am already married, Lord.”
ARE YOU CERTAIN?
I am certain now. And it guts me like a fish brought to market.
I wail my pain and fury into a still, perfect sky.
Chapter Two
By the time the waters begin to recede, the sun is sinking in the sky, and though the rains have stopped, the clouds are heavy, and I am born all over again on another moonless night.
“We’ll sit here, then, until morning,” Turbote says, shuffling his bones to the floor beside me and kicking his legs out over the edge of the stone steps like a child. He seems smaller than he did an hour ago.
The temple is built into the crown of the mountain so that the land sweeps out from it like a skirt, the frothing ocean its lace. From the temple, all is seen, just as all is seen by the gods. I grit my teeth at that similarity. They might see, but they only care if it benefits them.
There’s a lightness to Turbote’s tone that seems like it’s coming from a faraway land. “A fire would have been nice,”he says, not seeming to care that I have no part in this conversation. “It would have lit the way for any boats, but no matter. Everything is far too wet to burn. Eventually people will make their way back. The fleet from Andalappo will be close and they may be the first to set foot on the dock. Their prince would make a fine choice for you, though that’s likely too much to hope for. We’ll see their lights from here if they make landfall.”
Now that the winds have calmed, there are lights dancing in the distance across the span of many waters. He’s right. There are boats and ships out there. Soon, my people will return from the safe harbors and dry land they hoped to find in Andalappo. The swell was so strong here that three of our islands were completely submerged, and the other two nearly so, but Andalappo is a string of island mountains. When the sons and daughters of the Crocus Isles return, they will be safe.
It’s the birdsong that breaks me.
The Crocus Isles are thick with emerald-fronded plants, broad leafed and bountiful. Below us, in the last scraps of light, I see them waving gently as if all is well, though it is not well at all. And then the birds begin to sing, telling one another that they’ve survived this terrible storm. That it is past. That they are whole. If they hadn’t gone and sung, I could have held the tears in, but the fool things won’t let up with all their cruel joy.
I sink down beside Turbote.
“We can send someone down to demand their captaindisembarks first,” he says, sounding happy. “Or any noble they have aboard. That should suit well enough. As long as it isn’t Gheric Rodehands. That miserable traitor.”
“Opposing monarchy doesn’t make a man a traitor. He loves the isles, too.” We are both so tired of this ongoing argument that Turbote doesn’t even bother to answer back.
“I wouldn’t worry if I were you, Your Serene Majesty. The council will take it all in hand right away.”
“Worry about what?” I am long past worry. I can’t even see it on my horizon anymore. What is left to worry about? The worst has happened, and it can’t be taken back.
“Who you’ll be forced to marry, of course.” Turbote sounds put out.
I snort gently. I will marry a gull if I must. I care not at all.
“We’ll make the best of it!” Turbote can’t disguise his satisfaction anymore. It would make me bitter, except I know it’s only relief to have survived. “We’re good at making the best of things.”
“The council will see to the rescue of survivors, the rebuilding of the isles, and the restoration of order,” I say calmly. “My heir is Cousin Delarte. He was on theMerrymakerwhen it set out two days ago. If all has gone well, they’ll return with the rest. He’ll need a strong council to help him reign.”
“My queen?” Turbote sounds rattled. I regret stealing his temporary joy. “Coralys? You heard the gods speak. You bartered with them. You must marry! If you break your pactwith them, they will return with five times the fury. There will be no survivors from such wrath.”
I turn to him and make my voice firm, thankful he won’t see my face in the falling darkness.
“Counselor Turbote, tomorrow we will recover and bury our dead. And I will marry the first man to set his foot on our pier here on Talasa, whoever it is. And I will go away and be his wife and my crown will pass to Delarte. You heard the god. His station will be mine. And his people my own.”
“But, my queen—”
“Enough. The gods have spoken. And so have I.”
And with that I close my eyes, lean against the too-large pillar, and let my sorrows carry me through the long, aching hours of the night. I am certain that Turbote argues against my will, but I cannot tell you what he says, for I am not listening.
In my mind, I hear a sad song singing, one usually sung to children to list out the gods, though why we end it in sorrow, I could never divine.
Take your breath for Aurelius,
Drink your drop for Okeanos,
