Elia stood up and returned to the edge of the balcony, but faced Morimaros. She studied him, his hard handsomeness, the certainty in his eyes. Nothing about him suggested he did not believe everything he said. Her sisters were right. Gaela and Regan both—the king of Aremoria saw weakness in Lear, and he would blow through, expecting little resistance, unless Elia proved otherwise. And so far all she’d shown Morimaros was her own grief; none of Innis Lear’s strength, none of what she knew to be true about stars and roots, or even what her father had ever done well, what would make Innis Lear thrive. She thought of Lear’s expectant face, the strain with which he coaxed her to answer his terrible instruction at the Zenith Court. Star prophecy was woven into the bedrock of her island, but it had led them before to ruin.
“You don’t understand Innis Lear.”
“Perhaps.” Morimaros came to her. “But I understand rulership, and I understand balance.”
“You do not respect prophecy or the songs of the Aremore trees. There is no rootwater in your city wells, no voice for the wind or roots of this land. Ours may cry out for help now, but unless you embrace what those of Innis Lear require, you could never be our true king. Not unless you submerge yourself in the rootwater at the dark well of Tarinnish, when the stars are brilliant and ready on the Longest Night, and prove the island accepts you. Your blood and the blood of the island, one blood bringing life.” Elia felt breathless, imagining it from the handful of stories she knew about how Innis Lear made its kings.
He would never. He couldn’t.
Slowly, Morimaros reached out, giving her ample time to avoid his touch, and took both her elbows in his hands.
“Innis Lear is a mess, with no strong head, no direction. It is not because your father closed the holy wells, or because he gave all to the stars. That is onlyhowhe did it. By offering the people nothing else to believe in when he forbade access and censured their faith. He gave Innis Lear no common enemy, nor any common hero, nothing to unite his people and keep them bound to their crown. He rejectedthem,preferring the distance of cold stars to the warmth of his close blood. And your sisters? They may be individually capable of ruling, but what of giving your island a hero or myth or anything to heal the wounds inflicted? And what of their husbands? They are all too selfish to understand the weight of a healthy crown. And if yoursisters could somehow come to deny their own desires, cast off such quarrelsome husbands and devote more to the island than their own wounds, would the people of Lear agree to follow them, women who have been nothing but angry and cold? You see, I know much of the history of strife over the crown of Lear, Lady.”
Elia stared in shock. How dare he say such things about her country, her family? She clenched her jaw, then said firmly, “My sisters are determined, Morimaros. They will fight, and the people will accept them, because they are daughters of the island. Gaela is immensely powerful, like a saint already in her reputation, and Regan is known to commune with the roots. There is more than belief on Innis Lear. It is magic, real magic in our blood and in the song of the trees. My sistersarethe new story of Innis Lear. And—and if nothing else could bring Connley and Astore together, it is the prospect of Aremore invasion.”
“I would use all of this to your advantage.” Morimaros drew her closer to him by her elbows, as near into an embrace as he ever had. “Makeyouthe new faith. I would make your sisters and their husbands understand the only thing to stop my invasion is their sister Elia on the throne of Lear.”
Elia shook her head, denying the thought of it, even as her skin warmed. “Me? That is impossible. I was never built for it, Morimaros. I am a priest, no more, and hardly that, any longer.”
“I cannot believe that.”
“Then believe that I do not want to be queen. I never have wanted such a thing. I want my life to be my own.”
“We do not always have a choice in that matter. Even kings.”
“Do not take that choice away from me,” she commanded, or tried to: her voice shook.
He studied her for a moment. “Your uncle, the Oak Earl, wants the same as I. He argued in my council today that Aremoria’s best move is to put you on the throne of Innis Lear, and have a friendly neighbor, open trade without offense to the Third Kingdom. That it is what your father wanted, what he expected to have done at the Zenith Court.”
Horror stalled her voice. Elia closed her eyes. “I do not want to be queen of Lear. I do not want to vie with my sisters for the crown. I do not want to face their furious disdain. I have never wanted this. I want my father safe, and at peace for the last years of his life. I want—I want to do some good. Let me write to my sisters, negotiate with them. For my father, and for peace between them. They will choose one to rule: it will be Gaela. Asis her birthright. If they know you are not readying your warships, they might relax enough to listen. To calm their husbands.”
“You believe your sisters can create balance? Can make Innis Lear strong? And do fair business with me? I do not see it.”
“And yet what do you see in me that makes you so certain I should be a queen, so certain you can trust me?”
“Elia.” His voice was hot suddenly, lacking his usual reserve. “I saw it the day we met, in small things, things you would not remember because they were so naturally part of you. And I saw it blossom when you stood before Lear and did not play his game. Not for power or aggression or anger, but for love. You can bring people together, instead of dividing them. That is what strength is. And what love should be.”
Elia, fighting tears, said, “Then for love, let me try to save my father, and resolve these things between my sisters to make a strong country before you wreck it.”
“I will not be the one to wreck Innis Lear.”
Desperation compelled her to say, “Don’t go to war, Morimaros. Say you won’t, and I’ll marry you. Make me your queen, keep me here in Aremoria, but never go to war with my sisters.”
The king released her suddenly. Some strong emotion rippled across his face. “You would marry me for your island’s sake, but not my own?”
“Your sake?” Elia’s heart clenched, and her fists followed. “I thought marriages between kings and queens were for the sake of alliance. I thought you wanted my position and leverage over my island, Your Highness, not my heart.”
“I find… I would have both,” Morimaros said.
She stepped back, her hip pressed to the stone rail.
Her sister Regan’s voice hissed at her,Use this to our advantage, little sister. Use his heart to gain what you need.And Gaela’s triumphant, disparaging laugh echoed.
The king waited as she thought, his eyes taking in every detail of her.
Shivering, Elia said, “I would prefer that, too. Both, I mean.”
Morimaros leaned in to her, bringing his hands up to cradle her neck. His thumbs touched her jaw. They were so close, too close. He was all she could see of the world, and his desire to kiss her was painted clear on his face. She hoped desperately he would not. She couldn’t imagine what she would feel if he did, or how his kiss would change her. She only knew that it would. She wasn’t ready.
