Aefa continued to carefully hold the hemlock crown on a spill of midnight blue wool. It shivered with her breathing, and she did not know what to do with it.
Sighing, Aefa dragged herself over to the thronelike chair beside the fire. She collapsed onto the floor, scooting her bottom against the fresh rushes until she leaned against the throne. Legs crossed, she gently placed the crown in her lap.
The poison hemlock was lovely: fresh, tiny white flowers in clusters, shooting out in starbursts off a central, pale green stem with small violet blotches. Elia had braided the stems together, over and over, until the crown itself was a gangly, intricate circlet of nothing but constellated flowers.
Aefa skimmed a pale finger against some petals, barely able to feel their soft response. Her thoughts were filled with a gentle awe. This pretty, natural thing was the kingmaker here. Poison. Death and rebirth through the cold rootwaters was what made kings on Innis Lear. If her best friend weren’t facing it, Aefa might have smiled at the simplicity.
In order to earn the trust of the island, one had to trust it with one’s life.
Aefa shut her eyes. Elia was willing. Elia was being so brave about it, or in denial—there was a trait that showed strong in the Lear bloodline. But no, Aefa believed Elia meant this faith with all her heart.
If only Aefa did.
Perhaps it would be easier to take the leap herself, to entrust her life tothe rootwaters, than it would be to watch Elia eat this poison, to watch her grow numb and fall, to be desperate that the waiting waters would purge the poison from her blood and Elia would open her beautiful eyes again and say something tender about whatever she’d seen, while she had been briefly dead.
Aefa had to clutch at her own hands to keep from flinging the crown into the fire. Every part of the plant was deadly, Brona had warned.
A log in the hearth popped, startling Aefa. She laughed at herself, but sadly. She was terrified of the approaching dawn. Ban Errigal and Morimaros of Aremoria facing off, likely killing each other; then the sisters eating this poison crown and letting the island choose.
Aefa expected the king would win, unless the traitor cheated somehow, and perhaps that would negate everything. No magic, no slick treachery allowed.
Thank all the stars and worms of earth Elia was not pregnant with that bastard’s bastard.
Closing her eyes, Aefa wondered if the princess needed her yet, if Elia had returned to her rooms, or if she was with the king. Worms, but Aefa hoped she was with the king. Convincing him to win, to fight hard, saying whatever she needed to say and doing whatever she needed to do.
Very unlikely.
Aefa jumped to her feet, crown in one hand, her skin protected by the thin blue cloth, and hurried after her friend.
Elia was nowhere to be found. Not in her bedroom, not up on the lookout tower. Aefa wandered at a decent pace, not to worry anyone, but searching thoroughly. She saw Rory Errigal storming up from the cellar, and she saw Regan Connley drift down the corridor away from where she’d been placed to sleep.
As it grew later, Aefa returned herself to the bedroom she was sharing with Elia. Just as she reached the doorway, the princess appeared there, too, eyes cast downward as she walked slowly along the thin woven rug keeping warm the hall floor.
“Elia,” Aefa said softly.
The princess’s eyes flew up. Though some curls stood rampant about her face, free of the loose braids Aefa had put in earlier, Elia looked the same. Untouched. No: her lipstick was gone, smeared down to nothing but a flush of color on the left corner of her mouth.
That sight made Aefa’s heart pound. “Come,” she said, shoving open the door. It was grandly appointed, though small, and Aefa dropped the hemlock crown on a cushioned chair before kneeling at the hearth to stir up the fire.
Elia walked to the center of the room and stopped. “Aefa,” she said, very low and haunting.
“I’m here.” Aefa flung herself up, coming before her princess and taking her hands. “Tell me.”
“I kissed the king of Aremoria,” she said, sliding Aefa a sorry almost-smile.
“Finally!” the Fool’s daughter danced in place to cheer up her friend.
But Elia’s smile trembled. “I am having trouble letting myself feel it all.”
Weaving their fingers together, Aefa made sure her face was bright and open, ready to listen.
“There is so much, and all of it conflicting. I—I cannot fall down and wail,” Elia said. “I cannot yell or sob or even rejoice. Those are not things a queen does. But I also… I know better than to shut it all away, to wrap myself in blissful numb nothings. Not anymore.”
Aefa bit her lip, then nodded. “I understand. I think… Well, there is more possibility between falling and flying wild. You do not have to be only either a cold star or a fiery explosion.”
“How do I find balance when my heart is aching to burst?” Tears hovered in her black eyes. “Someone I love will die in the morning. Ah!” She caught back a gasp of pain, widening her eyes so as not to blink and force the tears to fall.
“Hold on to me.” Aefa tugged Elia nearer and put the princess’s arms around her waist, then wrapped her own arms around Elia’s neck. She took a deep breath. “Rain is not always a storm. The wind does not always howl. Sometimes death is quiet, or love is peaceful. There are little things.”
