***
THEY SAILED FORInnis Lear at dusk, to make the crossing overnight.
Elia stood at the prow of the small galley, holding the worn rail with one hand for balance against the waves and the thrusting of oars. The sailors chanted a low song to keep their rhythm, a soothing Aremore lullaby that seemed to have no beginning and no end. Men dropped out and slipped back in at any time of the cycle, in harmony or low melody-free intonation, creating a never-ending, comforting mess.
Besides the twenty-odd oarsmen, she was only joined by Aefa and the king’s most trusted soldier, La Far. Every Aremore man would be left on the boat, when they made land: if La Far even stepped off without her invitation, she had threatened to arrest him on her own authority. Though she had little power to keep that word, La Far gave her the respect of believing it.
So by themselves, Elia and Aefa would go, despite neither knowing anything of traveling alone, or of camping without bags packed by priests or retainers waiting to serve. At least they would be together.
As she struggled to remain awake at the front of the ship, Elia set her plans in order: First she would listen to the wind, speak to the trees. She’d bare her heart to the roots and stones and swear to die for Innis Lear.
Next she would find her father, work out Rory’s safe return with Errigal, and then she would meet with her sisters to set them on a sane course of rule. Make peace in Innis Lear between the two of them and their dangerous husbands. Crown them immediately, before Midwinter, for Elia bled of two royal lines and was a star priest besides; if anyone could ordain true queens without the long dark of Midwinter, it was her. She would convince the rootwaters to accept them, sort out the lore from truth, rally Innis Lear to respect their joined rule—after all, Gaela and Regan had said to her once they shared their stars, so they could share this crown.
And Elia would do all that before thinking ever again of the king of Aremoria, or how his rare touch had lifted her spirit.
Of Ban Errigal’s future or pardon, Elia was uncertain.
The moon waned yellow and gray in the eastern sky, peeking in and out of long black clouds that blotted out nearly half the stars. All around the waves flashed silver, tickling the shallow hull of the galley with wet kisses. Aefa knelt beside Elia, her temple pressed to the wooden rail, eyes shut, valiantly holding back her sea illness. On the journey to Aremoria, seemingly years and not weeks past, Aefa had vomited heartily over the side of Morimaros’s grand royal barge. Elia suspected her friend’s newfound resolve had everything to do with La Far’s presence, as he twice alreadyhad brought the girl fresh water and a cool compress for the back of her neck. In the moonlight, his sorrowful face took on a solemn, holy cast.
But Elia could not think so peacefully when looking at La Far. He reminded her too much of Morimaros, and then she would think of his spy. Ban the Fox, whom she did not know at all.
I keep my promises.
Anger curled its clutches again around her heart.
Elia would discover the extent of Ban’s loyalty to Aremoria. His eyes, his hands, his promises had been so real, so intensely true at the Summer Seat: she could not believe they were only lies, meant to distract her or manipulate her toward Morimaros. They had meant everything to each other, once. She’d seen it in him again, that night when he asked,What makes you bold?It was not a thing to say to a woman you wished out of the way, to convince her to give herself and her island into the protection of an enemy. Elia had to believe he had not betrayed her completely.
But if he was truly Aremoria’s man, she would cast him off her island forever. Elia’s breath quickened. She had to know.
“Ban Errigal.” Aefa’s voice was rough, like sand that had seen no tide. “You’re thinking of him.”
Elia startled, then knelt beside her friend. “I am,” she whispered.
The girl glared, her eyes bright with a feverish glint. “He is a bastard traitor!”
“Yes.” Elia grasped Aefa’s hands, clutching them tightly. They put their foreheads together, and the princess whispered, “Was he ever expected to be otherwise? What king of Lear has trusted him, what loyalty was he afforded by those who should have held him dear? He was made this way as a child.”
“Do not hold Ban higher than Morimaros, Elia,” Aefa begged quietly.
“I cannot think of that king,” she whispered harshly, even as his final words to her thumped and thrummed in her skull.
“Ban does not deserve to be in your heart if you cannot put that king there, too. I do not see how you blame Morimaros for all, and Ban Errigal for none.”
Elia kissed Aefa’s knuckles. “Because I understand Ban’s pain, and I understand who he—who he was, at least. And perhaps who he might have been, had he not been ripped from us. But Morimaros I cannot forgive. He sent a spy, his stolen weapon, against my island, then spoke to me as if we could be partners. As if we might even be more.”
“He is a strong king; you saw his court, walked his city. He is good, andso he must have believed his reasoning was also good. And he didn’t know you when he first sent Ban. You hardly gave him anything of yourself in those letters.” Aefa managed a weak smile. “Remember how much he talked of farming?”
It churned in Elia’s guts: simple, personal hurt. She’d though Morimaros was incapable of this deceit, which was ridiculous of her, naive and stupid, perhaps, but still—she hurt to be so wrong. “I will discover Ban Errigal’s truth apart from Aremoria, and his choices, and judge him for them, whatever they may be.”
“He was gone for five years, and you spent perhaps an hour with him, at the most desperate, vulnerable moment of your entire life, and so you trust him? This is folly!”
Elia held on to Aefa’s hands. “I loved him before, Aefa. Before any of this, before you came to me. You don’t remember. You were not yet at Father’s court. My father was terrible to him, and then he—with Errigal, too—earned Ban’s hatred. Even I… I let him go without a fight. I cannot… I cannot be surprised he fell into admiration for a king like Morimaros. I did myself, as did you! You condemn Ban for the same, but his betrayal did not come from nothing. Innis Lear betrayed him first, because his birth stars say he is worthless, or at least less, and so our men would believe, refusing to see their part in the ruin of their sons. But he… Oh, Aefa, if you could have seen the conviction in him that night. How he looked at me. He has power, different from Morimaros, from my sisters, from my father.”
Aefa squinted her light eyes and brushed damp hair off her face. “But you do want to see him again, personally.”
“I do.”
“Uh!” Aefa laughed like she was annoyed, and shoved Elia gently. The princess rocked backward, only catching herself by letting go of Aefa and scrambling. It was very ungainly, very lacking royal grace.
