But Elia instead turned to face the council table.
Kayo half stood out of his delicate chair, chagrined. Elia’s nostrils flared as the Oak Earl winced, and Mars recognized, finally, her anger. Her spark. His heart flew high with hope.
Elia walked to the edge of the table, stared at every member of his council; they gazed back unconcerned, curious, irritated, and a few as chagrined as Kayo, depending on their arguments.
The princess touched the corner of the map spread across the oval table, held down by weights sculpted into ships: an elaborately painted Innis Lear and its surrounding ocean, with the shores of Aremoria just visible.
“Are you discussing my island?” she asked, too softly.
“Elia,” Kayo said, fully on his feet now, sounding conciliatory.
She held up her hand for him to stop. Carefully, she turned to face Morimaros again.
“Yes,” the king said.
“You should not discuss Innis Lear without Innis Lear present. Not only is it insulting, it seems tactically unsound.”
His heart went wild at her offended tone, and his eyes ranged over her face as if all the pieces of it were separate, as if he could read her as clearly as any battlefield; she was a mystery in that moment. His lips parted, but the king maintained his silence.
The princess’s chest lifted faster; the only signal of the depth of her upset. She lifted her brow as if to encourage him.Yes? Speak?
As if he needed her permission.
“You are correct,” Morimaros said. “I apologize, Princess.” He ignored the shifting motions of his council; indeed, he only suddenly recalled their presence.
She said, “I was grieving when I took the haven offered by the Aremore crown, and I thank you, Morimaros, for the sanctuary provided so generously by your court, and for the time to appreciate my wounds.”
Mars nodded once. Any more and he would cross the small distance to her and touch her: take her wrist, brush his hand along her jaw, put his cheek to her curls.
Elia stepped nearer. “I am finished hiding.”
It was a concession, to having been weak. Mars admired her for it.
She said, “I must be Elia of Lear today and tomorrow, and more than I was last month.” Her eyes slanted toward Kay Oak to include him, before fixing her gaze again on Mars. “And this council should know that Innis Lear is not as vulnerable as we seem. We have a royal bloodline, born of the island roots and blessed by the stars, who will fight for it, and people unwilling to be conquered.”
Her voice only trembled slightly.
Mars stepped nearer. “That is good information to have, Lady Elia,” hesaid with equal formality. “Perhaps this council should adjourn and you and I will continue our conversation alone.”
“Yes,” she said.
Mars reached for her hand, and she gave it. He raised her fingers, barely grazing them with his own, and bowed once more. Without straightening out of the bow, Mars lifted his eyes, and smiled slightly for her; a smile no one else could see.
FIVE YEARS AGO, HARTFARE
KAYOAK WALKEDalone.
Despite the perfect afternoon, the peaceful clouds so high overhead, every breath was agonizing.
He’d not rested since leaving the wedding ceremony at Connley Castle, but instead taken a horse and ridden hard west, unthinking, a weight like murky water pressing down and all around him, darkening his vision. The horse moved under his urging, into the White Forest, and Kayo only knew to aim for the center, the heart of the woods, where there would be sign in the form of tattered cloth hanging from branches.
He’d never been to Hartfare, and not spoken with Brona in years. Not since that night of his sister’s year memorial, when the witch had told him everything he’d missed while working his trade routes. When the witch—this island—had broken his heart. But he knew the path to her lost village, as everyone did, from songs and rumors.
The blue cloth markers appeared, and he allowed the horse its head for a while. Once they reached the village, he slid off, dropped the reins, and walked on, past curious women and children, and some few men, past barking dogs delighted to meet someone new, past cottages and finely tended gardens and smoking fires. They pointed silently the way to the witch, knowing without asking why Kayo had come.
The door to Brona’s cottage was shut, and he leaned against it, slumping with his forehead to the grainy wood. Beneath his forehead, the door shifted, opening. Kayo stood, lips parted, dark eyes wide.
Brona was there, luscious and tall and numinous.
