Slowly, and with perfect gentility, the queen runs the back of her fingers down my cheek, smiling when a full-bodied shiver overtakes me. “Rowenna was happy here. In time, you will be too. We’ll give you everything you could ever want. All you have to do is truly ingratiate yourself with our kingdom. Give yourself—and your gifts—over to Vanzador, as she did.”
On the surface, Queen Tessa’s words are kind, her tone honey-sweet, which is what makes it even worse than Soren’s direct approach. She didn’t swoop in and rescue me from her husband out of concern for my comfort or well-being. She’s simply attacking from a different angle, ambushing me with kindness so I’ll let down my guard and agree to grow bagrava.
I lean away from her and, in a quiet but firm voice, say, “You can ask a thousand different ways, but my answer won’t change. I refuse togrow bagrava. Your husband has more than enough power.”
To my surprise, Queen Tessa laughs, and her ladies join in—all except Elodie, who is inordinately focused on a small string trailing from her gloves.
“Who said anything about my husband or his power?” Queen Tessa asks, still chuckling. She and her ladies exchange a wicked look; then she motions to servants waiting in the wings. A moment later, they emerge carrying trays laden with steaming pots and pretty painted cups. I gag as they begin to pour because the liquid streaming into my teacup is purple—a rich, velvety purple that burns my nostrils with its foul odor.
Only one plant on the continent is this particular color. Only one plant emits this gag-inducing stench.
Queen Tessa brings a cup to her lips, closes her eyes, and inhales the steam with a blissful sigh. “We’ve always had to ration our bagrava tea so carefully, but nowyoucan grant us this small favor in exchange for our hospitality. It seems a fair trade, don’t you think?”
I want to knock the cup out of Queen Tessa’s hands, but my own hands are shaking too hard. “Rationit?” I finally sputter. “You’re not supposed to consume bagrava at all! You’ve seen the Marauders!”
“Do I look unhinged?” Queen Tessa takes a long slow sip, then gestures to her ladies. “Do any of us?”
The women regard me over the tops of their steaming cups, clear-eyed and perfectly poised.
It’s unsettling. Not to mention impossible.
“Unlike the Marauders, we’ve conducted trials to find a dosage that can be consumed without adverse effects,” Queen Tessa explains.
“I don’t believe you,” I argue.
Many Tashiri rebels have gone against Earth Mother’s counsel and have experimented like this—hoping to discover a way to feed the blessed plant to themselves rather than the ground. But every attempt resulted in disaster: addiction and tremors, aggression and madness. None of the benefits could ever outweigh the cost. And if my ownpeople couldn’t find a way to manipulate the bagrava for safe consumption, I refuse to believe the Vanzadorians have somehow managed it.
“We’re in no danger of losing ourselves,” Queen Tessa insists, “only enjoying ourselves. In fact, I think we’d all agree we’re most content while sipping our daily libation.”
“Yourdailylibation?” I repeat, as they jovially clink their glasses. “You drink our bagravaevery day?”
“Once it’s given in tribute, is it not ours to do with as we please?” Queen Tessa counters.
Don’t engage, Rowenna begs.It will change nothing.
But the bagrava has never been, and will never be,theirs.
I shoot to my feet, outrage spewing from my lips, “My people aren’t breaking their backs so you can sit in this gilded room and drink our life source for pleasure!”
I can’t believe Soren would allow this, that he’d sacrifice even a portion of his fuel for such frivolity.
Queen Tessa patiently waits for me to finish before saying offhandedly, “I’m surprised you’re so upset. Rowenna didn’t seem to have a problem with our tea. In fact, she often partook herself.” She grins, knowing the revelation will fracture the bedrock of my soul.
Youpartook?I silently accuse gasp at Rowenna.How could you?
What other choice did I have? If I had exploded with outrage, they’d have instantly mistrusted and dismissed me. It would have ruined my chances to worm my way into their confidence. Sometimes sacrifices must be made, lines must be crossed. I thought you of all people would understand this. Understandme.
Her accusation lands like a slap across the face, and I stagger backward.
“Are you okay? You look a bit unwell, Indira,” Elodie says.
“I fear this dreadful conversation has made us all a bit unwell,” Queen Tessa laments as she sets aside her empty teacup. “Thankfully, that can be remedied. Come, let’s pray and recenter ourselves. Beginagain, and forget these little foibles.”
I’m about to point out these are hardly “little foibles,” but the queen and her ladies are already settling down onto the plush carpeting. Queen Tessa claps twice, and the young man in the blue tasseled hat, the one who recounted Rowenna’s memory of Mother’s surprise party, enters the room. He circles us slowly, watching as the queen and her ladies press one hand into the ground and drape the other over their eyes—just like Alaric in our marriage tent and the people in the square when we entered the Fortress.
Elodie shoots me an encouraging glance before she covers her eyes, but I remain where I am, standing rigidly above them—until the young man in the tasseled hat approaches. Without a word of warning, he places his hands on my shoulders and presses me toward the ground.
“What are you doing?” I cry.
