Haddesh lunges at Alaric, slashing his poker like a sword. “Murderer!”
The Vanzadorian guards dart forward again with their swords raised, but this time, King Soren steps past them and slashes his hand toward the ground. With a grindingpop,the blue-gray cobblestones scrape into motion, cresting into a wave that hurtles toward Haddesh. He grits his teeth and widens his stance, but even his broad stature can’t contend with the power of the earth. The roiling ground tosses him the length of an entire planting row, as if his muscled body is as flimsy as the straw dolls Ro and I played with as children. It’s only when he smashes against a marble column and a bone-chillingcrackfills the courtyard that I remind myself straw could never sound so solid and wet.
All around me, servants and courtiers scream and scatter darting for the safety of the palace walls. But I can’t move. Can’t look away from the pool of blood spreading from the back of Haddesh’s head. How can his neck be bent at such a grotesque angle? He must be in agony, yet he doesn’t wail. I don’t even see his chest rising and falling. Mine, on the other hand, heaves and sputters. I can’t seem to catch my breath, no matter how quickly I inhale.
“Haddesh!” I finally croak out, but his dark eyes stare blankly at the sky above. His bulging arms lie limp and useless at his sides.
He’s gone, just like that.
Just like Rowenna.
“At least they’re together now, in the Great Fields Beyond,” one of the remaining courtiers blubbers. But instead of comfort, this makes my shock and sadness boil over into outrage. Haddesh had so much heart, so much love and ferocity, and Soren wiped it out with a flick of his wrist. And the thought of Haddesh and my sister running hand in handthrough endless fields of silver-dusted wheat makes me want to scream.
Why am I always the one left behind?
Because you did nothing, my guilty conscience murmurs.You sat back and watched the Vanzadorians take her, and whimpered uselessly now, when they returned her lifeless body. At least Haddesh tried to defend her.
We shouldn’t have to defend ourselves against our allies. How is Tashir ever supposed to prevail against power like Soren’s? It’s like asking a weed to go to battle against the ground itself.
As if reading my mind, Soren glowers down at Mother, Father, and me from beneath his caterpillar brows. Then his gaze sweeps across the remaining horrified onlookers. “Would anyone else care to lob groundless accusations?” After a moment of silence, Soren says with a vicious chuckle, “I didn’t think so.”
His arrogant laughter stirs something in the depths of my belly. Something slick, black, and baring its fangs. Part of me knows I should crush it with the heel of my boot. Nothing good can come from this hissing, thrashing rage. But another part of me likes the way it feels as it surges through my chest and pours down my arms. How it guides my hand to the trowel on my belt and curls my fingers around the handle like a dagger.
“Indira, stop!” Father says, gaping down at my makeshift weapon with horror. “Fighting helps nothing.Clearly.” He nods gravely at Haddesh’s unseeing eyes and twisted mouth. “This isn’t what your sister would want.”
I want to tell him he’s wrong. Rowenna was always the first to charge into battle and stand up to every injustice. I can’t even begin to count all the times she stood up forme—helping me navigate courtly politics and barking at anyone who tried to take advantage of my ability to grow bagrava. But she never lobbed the first insult. Never threw the first punch. And that’s what finally makes me drop my trowel with a sob. Rowenna didn’t start fights; she finished them. She fought only todefend the people she loved, and I failed to return the favor. Lashing out now would only make things worse for my family.
And for Tashir.
I wilt back to the cobbles, feeling even smaller and emptier than before.
Father turns to Soren. “We won’t burden you with our grief any longer. The journey is long. I’m sure you want to be on your way.” He even musters a friendly smile, as if this man didn’t kill his eldest daughter. As if we’re somehow the trespassers on our own land.
“Actually, we won’t be returning to Vanzador untilafterthe burial,” King Soren announces. “We traveled all this way… We’d like to see the task properly finished.Andenjoy the bounty of Tashir, of course.” He adjusts his belt over the swell of his hairy stomach and flashes a self-satisfied smile.
Of course.
The Vanzadorians return my sister’s body in a box, kill anyone who questions them, and still expect us to lay a banquet for them.
Three
The royal guards usher the last of the gawking onlookers into the palacewhile Jareth and Despina somberly escort the Vanzadorians to the guest suites. Leaving Mother, Father, and me in the empty, echoing courtyard. Staring at Haddesh’s body and Rowenna’s coffin.
Without all the cries and commotion, I realize Mother’s doing more than just sobbing. She’s whispering a stream of feverish words. I only catch bits and pieces, but it’s more than enough to parse out the theme.
Stronger. Promised. Failed.
It’s painful enough that Rowenna is gone, but if I’m forced to watch our formidable mother crumble to pieces and blame herself, I don’t know how I’ll recover. And worse, I don’t know howTashirwill recover.
Mother has always been the steely spine of our kingdom. The justice to Father’s mercy. It’s why my grandparents selected her—a gritty field-worker—to be his bride. They knew Father needed an assertive, carnivorous cobra lily to grow beside him. Someone shrewd and aggressive enough to devour any threat, because their son was no better than a tulip—all pretty petals with a merry bobbing head. But instead of snapping to action like Mother always has in the past, she remains drapedover the coffin like a funeral spray.
Eventually, Father clears his throat and smooths his tunic with trembling hands. “I-I suppose we should call the guards and have them move the bodies to the chapel, so Father Alonzo can prepare them for burial.”
The bodies.
He can’t even say Rowenna’s name. He plans to lump her in with Haddesh and leave her burial preparations to a virtual stranger, rather than pull on gloves and wade into the mire himself.
Ro deserves so much better. She’s suffered so much indignation already. Her final moments should be spent with someone who knew her. Someone who loved her.
