Threats of Sky and Sea Read online

  Thankfully, I haven’t seen Baunnid either, but Lady Kat seems to be everywhere he’s not. I can scarcely turn a corner without finding her lurking in the shadows, a ruby at her neck, stroking a golden lock of her hair between her fingers as she studies me thoughtfully. She’s kept her power from reaching for me, but I gulp down my fear when I pass her. I know well how violent she can be.

  Despite running into him for that brief conversation astride our horses, Caden is a rarer presence, and I find myself lamenting that. His father’s son or not, Caden’s been kind to me, seemingly without a shred of the pretense that cloaks the king like a second skin. I pass the prince in the halls sometimes, usually as I trail beside my ladies or caught behind a bevy of skirt-swishing noblewomen on their way to a sewing circle.

  I mumble “Your Highness” with a respectful incline of the head during such passings—we all do. My voice is just one in the chorus. Excepting those moments, I see him only at dinner alongside his father and the other royals.

  I dine with them in a grand hall, with purple stained-glass windows that let a violet light filter in and slant over our faces. It takes a few meals before I adjust to the fact that everyone around me looks like a blueberry.

  Though most nobles outside the royal family sit at the surrounding tables, I am at the head table with the king, Lady Kat, Caden, and a few select others. I suspect it’s done simply to discomfit me. I spend the majority of these dinners in silence, letting the chatter of the nobility fill my ears and pretending that the silverware clinking against glass is just tankards clanking together. The illusion is spoiled when I look around and Da isn’t there.

  One evening, a visiting lord is seated beside me. I don’t catch his name, but he must be close to the king. The gossip that envelops me has reached his ears, and after imbibing too much of the wine accompanying the meal, he asks me about growing up in a tavern.

  There’s a grin on my face before he completes the question. It’s nice to be reminded of happier times amidst the worried clouds that hang about my head. No one else here acknowledges my past, but it is a barrier between me and the rest of them, even unspoken.

  “It was hectic usually, my lord,” I say. My toothy smile spreads unabashedly as I imagine darting from table to table, clutching a bunch of pints in my hands. “We competed with another brewer in the village for business, but the villagers always said that Da and I were the better of the two. They told us that we Perdits were—”

  “That’s quite enough.” The king’s goblet smacks down on the table. I jump and swivel to face him, shocked at the interruption. “Hold your tongue, Lady Breena. If I find you continue to misuse it, then by the ether, I will cut it out.”

  “As you should. I mean, really,” Kat says from several places down. “Must we discuss your uncouth past at the dinner table?”

  Uncouth? Furious, my fingers clutch around my fork—which is the wrong one, I am sure, for stabbing the back of Lady Kat’s hand.

  “Quite right.” The king nods his agreement. The red bristles of his beard fold between his fingers as his hand comes up to settle on his chin. “And need I remind you, you are not a Perdit, Lady Breena.”

  It is physically difficult to restrain myself from snapping at them as Lady Kat meets my gaze and holds it, smirking. The metal handle of my fork pushes a groove into my palm so hard I’m certain it will darken into a bruise. I am a Perdit. The name is mine. They’ll not take that, too. Secan is nothing to me.

  And I’m not uncouth. If anyone is, it’s them. They dirty the kingdom with their leadership by the simple fact of their presence in it.

  I rip my eyes away and stare down at the bowl of lentil soup in front of me. Tiny ripples dance in the sea of spices.

  I hadn’t been aware that the subject of my upbringing was forbidden. The injustice burns through me. If I’m to be the subject of palace gossip, it seems ridiculous that I can’t provide my own point of view.

  “Is something wrong, Lady Breena?” Kat simpers. “Is the soup not up to your high standards?”

  The soup is fine, I feel like saying. Delightful, even. It’s you who aren’t up to my standards. I hurriedly spoon the soup into my mouth before the words can fly loose from my tongue.

  It’s best I abandon this particular vein of thought. It’s in my best interests for them to see me as obedient. Perhaps it’ll be easier if I tell myself that I’m imagining all of this—every bit of the last few weeks. Just to get through the meal.

  This is a dream, I tell myself firmly, trying it.

  But no, that doesn’t work either. “This is a dream” turns into “this is a delusion” before both are thrown overboard for “this is a nightmare.”

  And honestly, if that’s the case, I’d quite like to wake up.

  The king watches me from his seat at the head of the table, his head leaning comfortably on his hand. Caden sits at his right, and next to him, the green-eyed girl. Both of their faces are wiped of expression as they methodically work their way through the meal.

  “Lady Breena, I believe you were asked a question,” the king prompts. His eyes glint dangerously, waiting for me to misstep or openly defy him.

  I take a sharp breath. I’ll tell him what I think of his sodding soup—

  Caden’s rigid manner breaks as his eyes meet mine and he gives a barely perceptible shake of his head. Not now, he seems to be telling me. Choose your moment.

  My mouth closes. I swallow hard.

  “The soup is fine.”

  Sixteen

  The stories go that our world was the second one made. Before the land that holds realms like Egria and Nereidium, there had been another, the one unto which the Makers, the Father and the Mother, had been born. But that world was filled with such corruption and death that they retreated into the sky, where they beheld with sorrow the world that they loved falling to ruins from war and hatred.

  The Mother wept, and the Father lapped up her tears until his thirst was so quenched that he could do nothing more to ebb their flow. And so he joined her, intertwining her body with his until, between them, the glowing lakes and oceans emerged. And there, they saw, was a new land, pregnant with promise, cleansed of the evil from their former world.

  Here was a chance, they thought, to start anew. For the beings that lived there to live good lives. They tied some of the people to the world itself so that they would avoid the temptation to pollute it with darkness, as had happened in the last lands.

  Those chosen ones had been the first Elementals.

  I don’t know all of the finer points contained in the Creation Scrolls, but I understand one thing: the Makers failed. Our world is as corrupt as the last.

  Perhaps that’s just the nature of life, of sentience and free will breathed into a creature. They turn from good intentions. Not all of them, but they all make choices. Some decisions are the right ones; some are the wrong ones; and whatever they do, they lead their fellow man further down a path of good or evil. Creatures created from truth learn what it is to speak a lie and—even worse—that there’s gain to be had in those falsehoods.

  What I’d told Caden was true: worship services when I’d lived in Abeline had been a rarity. We didn’t have a chapel in the village and such a trek to visit the priests and priestesses necessitated that Da and I learn to appreciate the Makers in the comfort of our own home.

  It’s not an option I’m given here; services in the palace are mandatory after my first week.

  Midweek, Emis and Gisela escort me past the stables, past the pasture where I’d ridden a few days ago, to a rocky outcropping of jagged white stones that jut up from the earth, defiant, lining the edge of a cliff. There’s a pretty path of flat stones leading up to the chapel doors, but I’m distracted by the sight beyond them.

  The ocean. How can it be here? The lands around the king’s stronghold are as confused as the castle itself. Just as the castle’s design looks like it sprang from dozens of different minds, the earth in the capital changes from desert to f
orest to sea.

  The waters draw me forward as if I’m pulled by the ebb and flow of the tide itself. My ladies fall behind me as I move toward it.

  I’ve never seen such a large body of water before. The closest I’ve come is the river behind the Bridge and Duchess. But the sea below me smells of salt and secrets and stretches beyond the horizon to somewhere where the Egrian king is only a name whispered on the wind.

  From the dizzying height of the cliff, I watch it buck like an untamed animal, seething and reaching up for the earth that towers above it. It crashes, roaring mightily and lashing its frothy waves against the cliffs.

  It wants me.

  I shudder, breaking free of the hold the hypnotic waves have on me. Bodies of water aren’t capable of thought, and even if they were, what business would they have with me? I doubt the ocean wants a pint of Bridge and Duchess ale. Not that I have that to offer any longer anyway.

  “Lady Breena?” Gisela’s voice is hesitant and penetrates the fog of my thoughts. The tinkling of chimes reaches my ears, announcing that services are about to begin.

  “Coming,” I call. I fall back from the edge, the wind whipping the short strands of my hair. I hook a lock of it behind my ear absentmindedly as I follow my ladies.

  The chapel is impressive. Situated precariously amongst the cliffs and pointed rocks, it makes a disconcerting statement. It looks like it sits at the end of the world. Built with heavy white-washed stone, a pale wooden door bars the entrance with the symbol of the Makers burned into it: two clasped hands with a single teardrop hovering above.

  I hustle inside behind my ladies, out of the range of the sun’s rays beginning to beat down upon us.

  Services are supposed to take place midday. I remember that much (though dimly) from the few services Da and I made it to when I was a child. The children of the Makers’ world are supposed to pause all other tasks in the middle of the day—in the middle of the week—and give thanks for the world we’ve been blessed with.

  I can’t stop the blasphemous thought that races through my mind: I have precious few blessings to be giving thanks for these days.

  The chapel fills with people as the chimes grow louder and louder. Gisela points me to the front of the aisle, between the rows lined with fluffy pillows to kneel upon.

  “We’ll be seated in the back,” she says. “Only nobility are permitted to sit so close to the priests and priestesses.”

  My heart squirms in my chest. The king and his family are seated up front beside Lady Kat and a slew of nobles I don’t recognize. If I have any say in the matter, I’ll be keeping far away from them.

  “I’d much rather sit with you ladies,” I say, doing my best to sound firm about it.

  Emis gives me a sad smile. “You cannot, my lady. You would only make things worse for yourself.”

  “That seems an impossibility,” I mutter. How can things get worse at this point?

  Emis gives my hand a quick squeeze. “You have the right to sit there, my lady. Don’t let them make you doubt yourself.”

  “I’m not doubting anything,” I say quickly. “It would simply please me to sit in the back.” My proclamation emerges louder than I would have liked, and several heads twist in my direction.

  Gisela starts to placate me. “Lady Breena—”

  “Stop calling me that—I’m not a lady,” I hiss. The words run together, leaving without my permission. My tongue curls against my teeth as I regret the outburst.

  Splendid, Bree. You’re going to do very well getting Da out of prison if you can’t even last a week without testing the ropes that bind you.

  I clear my throat and straighten my shoulders, ignoring the piteous looks my ladies are now giving me and the attention I’m drawing from the strangers festooned in silks and jewels. Giving up the argument as a lost cause, I sidle through the crowded aisle to the first available pillow I see and settle myself down.

  At least the palace chapel has the comfort of the pillows to be said for it. The small chapel in the north had boasted nothing but hard wooden floors—a great discomfort to kneel upon for the hours of worship. If this was what Da had been used to in services before he’d lived in Abeline, no wonder he hadn’t wanted to make the trip to worship. They barely warrant comparison.

  “Lady Breena!” The voice rings out over the assembled conversation.

  I cringe, ducking my head and wishing for the power to be invisible. There must be an element with the ability to hide me, and I wish with all of my might for the power to wield it now.

  My eyes travel to the front row where the king’s expectant gaze meets mine. This is the man to whom all in the kingdom are expected to bear an implicit loyalty. If it wasn’t such a terrible thought, I could laugh at how starkly it stands in juxtaposition to my own feelings.

  The sight of his face makes the tiny pool of hope that I carry within me—the one I can only summon after several hours away from his company each night—evaporate. His dark gray eyes are so different from his son’s. Devoid of humor, they look nearly black in spite of the well-lit chapel.

  “There is a seat for you here.”

  He doesn’t raise his voice this time. He doesn’t have to. A hush has fallen over the other worshippers so that it carries easily to my ears. It’s not a request, but a veiled order. I push myself to my feet and pad forward, my quiet footsteps resounding in the silent chapel. I fix a strained smile on my face.

  Caden nods in acknowledgement as I pass him. Lady Kat smirks at me, arms crossed over her chest and tapping a finger in the crook of her elbow impatiently.

  The open seat is between the king himself and the girl with the peridot eyes, whose name I still don’t know. I stiffly kneel beside them. It feels a little too much like bowing, like my body is telling a lie in which I swear fealty to this man I hate.

  “Lady Breena, I don’t believe you’ve had the pleasure of being introduced to the Princess Aleta,” the king says softly. His whisper is a scythe through leaves, slicing through the air with a dangerous bite as he watches me closely for a reaction.

  I do a double-take. The princess? I’d been so sure that Caden was the only heir to the throne. I didn’t know he had a sister.

  “His Majesty neglects to mention that I am not a princess of these lands.” The princess’s tone is dry. She must be very bold to feel secure enough to correct the king. I’m sure people have been executed for less.

  “You will be.” Inclining his head conspiratorially toward me, he explains. “Her Highness is my ward and betrothed to my son. She’ll be a princess of Egria soon enough.” His fingers squeeze her shoulder tightly, her skin paling around his grip.

  Princess Aleta’s fist clenches in the folds of her dress but relaxes again so quickly I think I might have imagined the movement. “Indeed, Your Majesty. The day shan’t come soon enough.”

  I notice the barest emphasis on “shan’t.” As though Aleta doesn’t want the day to come at all.

  Caden cranes his neck around the figures between us. “Loathe as I am to interrupt my lovely bride-to-be—and my father’s wedding dreams—I think we can save such talk until Her Highness and Lady Breena are better acquainted.”

  “Where are you—what lands do you hail from, Your Highness?” I inquire, my tongue fumbling the more formal speech.

  The king answers for Aleta, though the princess looked ready to speak for herself. “She was born in Nereidium. But it was a land torn in chaos and tumult. Her Highness has resided in Egria since she was a babe after my emissaries rescued her during a riot and we provided her with asylum within our borders. We couldn’t leave the only heir to their throne in such dire straits. Egria has been her home ever since.”

  Her home. I have a sneaking suspicion that between the king’s condescending tone and the way the princess’s eyes are locked on the crease where wall meets ceiling without blinking that she regards the palace as her home about as much as I do.

  Which is to say, not at all.

  The chapel
chimes abruptly cease, and three clear gongs sound. A priest and priestess of the Makers dressed in white robes that slink along the floor take the stage, and then silence rings out as clearly as the bells.

  I rest my hands on my knees and let myself focus on something bigger than my problems for a little while.

  Stepping out of the chapel after the service, I squint, raising a hand to shield my eyes. Perhaps someday I’ll grow used to the beacon of light that is the sun here in the south, but that time has yet to arrive. If I have my way, it never will.

  People still mill about, discussing the sermon. It had been…interesting. The priest and priestess talked about the incarnations of the Makers. How the Father embodies air and earth, oscillating between solid and invisible, while the Mother is flame and water, flowing over the land, peaceful when it suits her and burning rage when it does not.

  The service hadn’t been as bad as I’d expected, given my previous conversation with Caden, but then again, I’d not paid as much attention as I should have. I’d been preoccupied by the pressure of being thrust into the center of attention in the chapel.

  I made my getaway quickly when they concluded with the customary “And by the ether, let it be,” excusing myself outside before the king could stop me.

  “A word?”

  Taken by surprise, the maneuvers Da taught me to dissuade overzealous patrons in the tavern take over. I lash out as a hand falls on my shoulder.

  The king catches my fist in his. My quick movements were for nothing. More still, they’d been downright foolish. My heart pounds. I’ve all but attacked the king, and I stand on precarious ground with him already.

  “A word,” he says again. Menace lives in the growl of his words.

  Unable to speak around the weight of my tongue, I nod, following him to the side of the chapel. He waves his guards, Lady Kat included, off. The countess frowns and stomps away. I’m relieved. The king is bad enough. I don’t need both of them at once.