She laughs nervously and exchanges a look with Alaric, who gives a sad shake of his head—like a parent about to disappoint a child.
“I don’t want to sound pessimistic, but it isn’t possible,” he says. “We can’t control my father’s thoughts.”
“But wecanmake him relive memories he’d rather keep in the past,” I insist. “Things he wouldn’t want his adoring subjects to see. Memories he’d doanythingto keep hidden.”
“Are you suggesting we blackmail my father, the king of Vanzador?” Alaric splutters.
Delphine pales and lets out a whimper, but I sit taller in my planting bed, a devious smile playing across my lips. I’d prefer to think of it as a nudge in the right direction.”
***
The mountaintop is colder than I remember it being the night Delphineand I followed Alaric into this secluded clearing. Darker too. I tell myself it’s the howling wind and thin crescent moon, casting everything in freezing shadow, but I know the cold seeping into my bones is much more literal.
King Soren Alaverdi is making his way up the mountain, billowingever closer.
I shiver and wrap my jacket more tightly around my shoulders. Then I sink my fingers into the planting box I reassembled up here. I hum a few refrains of Earth Mother’s incantations, even though the planter doesn’t contain a single bagrava seed. I would never subject my plants to such torture; they’d perish up here in these hellish conditions.
But Soren doesn’t know that.
So I sing to fool him, and to soothe my nerves, as the minutes pass with excruciating slowness.
My fingers lose feeling first, despite the thick gloves I borrowed from Elodie, and my toes follow not long after. The tips of my nose and ears begin to burn, and as the soil in the planting box hardens, the lumps dig into my backside.
I shift uncomfortably and glance back over my shoulder, down the mountainside.
It wasn’t supposed to take this long.
Alaric promised Soren would eagerly follow him up here when helearned it was where I finally agreed to cultivate large amounts of bagrava.
“He won’t be able to resist seeing it for himself,” Alaric said. “And he wouldn’t miss an opportunity to punish you for making him wait so long.”
I shiver again, but now it has little to do with the cold. Soren is volatile. Unpredictable. Instead of submitting to our terms when backed into a corner, he could lash out in rage—like he did when he killed Besnik. We might all die on this mountaintop tonight.
An echo of distorted voices rises from the cave Alaric uses to access this summit, and I almost drop the two tiny buttons as I remove them from my cloak pocket. One is the silver button containing Alaric’s memory of Besnik’s death. The other is a golden button I tore from my own dress, containing a new memory of my own.
Two small buttons that will decide the future of our two nations.
“This is preposterous,” Soren mutters as he and Alaric emerge into the punishing cold. “Couldn’t you have convinced your wife to grow bagravainsidethe walls of the Fortress? EvenIknow these conditions are inhospitable for growing. It’s freezing and there’s hardly any soil. The ground has been excavated to the brink of collapse.”
“The girl likes it up here. She says it reminds her of Tashir.” Alaric plucks the lie out of thin air—so quickly, so seamlessly, it leaves me blinking. “Her people transformed the barren Tomb Flats into lush planting fields. Indira believes she can do the same here, on the mountain. She also believes she’s safe from you up here,” Alaric adds.
“Yet fool enough to believe she’s safe fromyou.” Soren chuckles darkly.
That’s the story Alaric told his father—that he wooed me with his charms and tricked me into falling in love with him, so I’d agree to grow more bagrava. But I would only do it up here—where I thought Soren couldn’t find me. The truth is we needed to get Soren away from the watchful eyes of his councilors and guards in order to threaten him.
“I’ll convince the girl to move her operations to the palace soon,”Alaric assures his father as they hike into view. “She’s so smitten, she’ll give me anything I ask. Poor girl’s head is full of nothing but dirt.” Alaric’s laughter is even colder than the wind, his face a mask of brutal indifference. He’s so convincing, so good at playing the role of Soren’s doting son, I would almost believe it was genuine if I didn’t know better. If I hadn’t seen the warm, beating heart he hides beneath his stony exterior.
Soren bobs his meaty head. “You’ve done well with the gardener. Much better than the disastrous union with your first wife. Such a useless girl.”
I clench my teeth so hard, it feels like they’re going to crumble out of my mouth, and force myself to stay hunched in the planting bed, pretending to be oblivious to their approach.
I feel the moment Soren’s greedy eyes find me. The hairs on my neck lift one by one, and I’m overwhelmed by the oily feeling of being watched.
I mouth a silent prayer to Earth Mother and clench the buttons even tighter, but I don’t whisper the song Alaric taught me. Not yet. Soren must be close enough to be enveloped by the golden light of the past, yet far enough not to see my planting bed is actually empty.
Their boots scuffle through the scree. My heart throbs in my throat. Still, I wait. Second after excruciating second, until the overbearing musk of Soren’s cologne fills my nose. He barks my name, as if I’m a dog, trained to leap to his call, but instead of answering, I press the golden button to my lips and whisper the words in a rush.
Dazzling yellow light explodes from my fist, even brighter than when I watched it envelop Alaric. I’m pretty sure I scream, but it’s swallowed up by King Soren’s frightened bellows.
