Morimaros did not answer immediately, though his eyes lowered, in sorrow or perhaps shame. Then he met her gaze again and—
“Ban the Fox is my spy.”
Elia instinctively rejected the current implication. Slowly, she said, “I know. That is… how he worked for you, here in your army.”
“Yes. He is a wizard, which suits spywork very well, when you can involve the trees and birds.”
“A wizard,” she whispered. “Birds. He… no. No.Hedid not send you this message… upon a bird’s wing. No. He wouldn’t, that’s different from working for you—in your army. Here. Ban is of Innis Lear. He has ever been ours.”Mine,her wailing heart added.
The king winced.
Only a small expression on his face, but for a man like him, it spoke volumes, and Elia put her hands to her mouth, fingers playing over her lips as if she might find the proper sequence to shut them forever.
Morimaros said, “I sent Ban to Innis Lear last month, before I arrived to pay you court. He was not summoned home. I asked him to study the cracks of your island, to report on potential room to maneuver, for better trade and even possible invasion, especially with regards to the iron magic of Errigal where he was raised. A king who expands production and controls those swords could protect whatever borders he established, would not have to worry about upstarts like Burgun ever again. I told him to destabilize what he could, as I would approach from a more courtly flank. Ban…” Morimaros cleared his throat. “Elia. I am truly sorry.”
“You’ve already begun the invasion of my island,” she whispered, voiceless so she did not scream. “You lied to me, saying there was ever a chance of peace. You’ve been lying to me since before I even met you. Every letter. Every kindness.”
The king did not defend himself.
This quiet betrayal was not so violent as what her father had done to her, but it stung. Though Elia deserved it, for believing the best of everyone. Morimaros of Aremoria had betrayed her. Ban—her Ban!—had, too. What hope could she possibly have that her sisters would not treat her the same, would not betray her, too, who had never even pretended to be her ally?
Perhaps that was better: at least with her sisters Elia had always known where she stood.
She clenched her teeth against hurt. She should not let herself be too surprised by Morimaros. He was a king, after all, and a man. And he would do as men—as kings—do. It only mattered what he needed to get for himself, for his country, for his satisfaction.
And Ban, too, was only a man.
Hurrying to the window, Elia pressed both hands flat to the clear glass. Outside was too pretty, too glorious to be real. She needed harsh gray wind and bending old trees. She said, “Ban did this to Rory. To his father. On purpose, for you, though he pretended it was for me. He took your mission and twisted it into his own revenge. Do you know how much he hated my father, and his own? You gave him sanction to destroy them.”
“Yes. I knew all of this, and I used it.”
“He kept hispromise,” she said. It was not dismay or grief tainting the word, but a hissing disgust.
And she turned to watch it hit Morimaros.
His expression did not alter, still and calm, and only barely ashamed.
Anger, and the loss of something very small and very pure, threaded itself though her ribcage, seeking her heart to take root.
Elia willed the swelling ocean flat.
“So Aremoria has agents inside the heart of my island,” she said. “And the king is not so noble as he pretends.”
“I have not lied to you about my intentions, nor my desires,” Mars insisted. “I do what I must. I am many things at once, the high and the low, the root and the stars. My kingdom is strong because I know how to breathe high clouds, to take sunshine in hand, while wading my feet through the shit. That is how a land flourishes, and its plants and flowers, birds and wolves and people. Not with magic, or old superstitions, but with a leader who will do everything, give everything, to it.”
She stared at him, and watched the space between them widen. She knew he was right about the duty of kings. It changed nothing.
“I am in love with you,” he said, in the same determined tone.
Elia laughed once, in disbelief only that he would say so now. When it could not have mattered to her less.
She shook her head, pressed her hands to her stomach, and turned to leave.
“Elia.”
“No, Morimaros,” she said. “I must go, for I have some shit to wade through, and I will not have your company.”
He did not try to stop her again.
