Alaric scrambles to the edge, screaming his father’s name. He even thrusts his hands out, as if to move the earth and save him, but I place a heavy hand on his arm.
“Don’t.”
He flinches and throws me off. “I have to!”
“You have to save yourself and your people,” I argue, squeezing his arm even harder. “How many times will you allow him to almost kill you? He’s shown you who he is. Believe him. Then let him go.”
“But he’s my father,” Alaric wails. “Vanzador needs him. I’m not strong enough—”
“You are,” I cut in. “Vanzador needs a king with the power to move the earth. That doesn’t have to be you father. Don’t let him be the downfall of your country—and mine,” I add quietly.
Alaric’s eyes are wild and wet, and he’s shaking so hard his legs give way and he crumples to his knees. But he doesn’t lift his hands to move the earth. Instead, he allows me to lace my fingers through his and we watch, together, as Soren vanishes into the darkness below.
Thirty-Seven
I don’t know how long we sit there, staring into the abyss. The bottom is too far below and too shrouded in darkness to see the moment of impact, but it must have happened, because the ground is eerily quiet and still. If Soren had survived, he would already be climbing up the switchbacks to punish us. These precarious cliffs would be crumbling beneath our feet. But the night is perfectly calm. Clouds roll lazily across the star-swept sky. And for the first time in ages, I release a full breath.
Alaric, on the other hand, makes painful gasping noises as he struggles for air. “I can’t believe he’s really gone,” he mumbles over and over again.
I squeeze his fingers tight and let him cry until he eventually runs out of tears and lowers his forehead to my shoulder.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I begin, choosing my words carefully, “but isn’t there a small part of you that’s relieved he’s gone? Or vindicated, perhaps? Didn’t you ever dream of getting justice for Besnik?”
“Sure, Ithoughtabout it, in my darkest moments,” Alaric admits. “But I never would have actually hurt my father. Like I told you a thousand times: I’m not a murderer. Or I wasn’t,” he corrects himself.
“You still aren’t. Soren drove himself over the ledge trying to kill you—for asecondtime. Even if you shoved him, it would have been warranted. You have no reason to feel guilty.”
Alaric’s face is moonstone pale, the shadows beneath his eyes amethyst purple. “I know it doesn’t make sense. He killed my brother and lied to me, manipulated me, but he was still my father. He taught me everything I know, and I do think he loved me, in his own way. He undoubtedly loved our people. The Fortress has always been safe and prosperous under his rule. Our people have job security and steady incomes.”
“A good king doesn’t strip his people of memories and life essence, then hide the dying bodies in a makeshift hospital,” I say flatly.
Alaric’s face is pained. “He was obviously far from perfect, but so am I. I should have noticed how the memory deposits were affecting our people. I should have asked why we needed so much bagrava. Who’s to say I won’t be an even worse ruler than my father? His councilors clearly don’t think I’m up to the task. They’ll never accept me as king.”
“Look at me.” I reach over and gently touch the side of Alaric’s face, turning his head until our eyes meet. “They won’t have a choice. You’re Soren’s rightful heir and the only one with the ability to move the earth.”
“There’s no law that states the person with power has to be the oneinpower. It’s just always been that way, since my father and grandfather were strong, natural rulers. But I’m not. The council will find ways to undermine and control me. They’ll keep me caged like the beasts in the traveling minstrel shows. Force me to perform on command.”
“No, they won’t. We won’t let them—.”
Alaric lets out a shuddering cry. “How can I be the king my people need when I was never meant to rule Vanzador?”
I tighten my grip on his hand, trying to squeeze strength and confidence into him. “But what if youweremeant to rule?” I ask softly. “What if you werealwaysmeant to be king, and that’s why the Gods of the Mountain blessed you with such a wonderful older brother—to teach you how to be kind and selfless and brave? To show you adifferent way to lead so you’d be prepared to save your people from the memory sacrifices?” I lower my voice to a reverent whisper. “What would Besnik say if he were here? What would he want—for you and for Vanzador?”
Alaric is silent for so long, I fear I’ve overstepped. Then he says, “He would support me without question.”
I nod my agreement. “You’re more than up to this task. Most of your people have never doubted you, and the ones who have will come around once they open their eyes and see how dedicated, passionate, and hardworking you are. It’s impossible not to love you,” I add.
Alaric’s eyes slowly lift, finding mine from beneath his thick curtain of lashes. “What about you? Doyoufeel up to the task? IfIam king, it meansyouare the queen of Vanzador.”
I swallow hard, hoping it will calm the anxiety churning like a sickness in my stomach. The thought of ruling any country makes me nauseous. I never thought I’d be queen of Tashir, let alone Vanzador. Ruling isn’t something I ever wanted, but maybe, like Alaric, I’m the unexpected queen Vanzador needs. There are good people on this mountain. People like Delphine and Elodie, who readily extended their friendship. Who showed me it’s okay to trust and let people in. And there are so many peopleIcan help here, like the people drained of their life essence, in desperate need of bagrava. And the miners, who have safer working conditions, thanks to my goblin’s gold.
Against all odds, I do believe I can be Vanzador’s queen—if I am brave enough to throw myself into the task wholeheartedly.
“Come on.” I brush off my skirt, haul myself to my feet, and extend a hand to Alaric, determined to be the strong one. Ready to lift him now, as he’s always lifted me. “We need to find your father’s body and carry it back to the Fortress before the city wakes.”
Alaric’s face goes ashen. “I can’t bear to see it. What will the guards say? They’ll think we killed him. They’ll—”
“They’ll thank you,” I interrupt, “when we show them the horrors of that makeshift hospital. When they learn the truth about Besnik’s death.”
