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, and so 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.
La Far appeared immediately, formed out of the shadows and sea spray. He caught Elia’s elbow and steadied her. “We have a few hours left, lady. Perhaps you might try to sleep.”
Allowing him to lift her to her feet, Elia smiled a small, polite smile. “Thank you, but I do not sleep well at sea, and I would like to be aware of the moment we come again into Lear’s waters.”
Aefa dragged herself up by the rail, and La Far belatedly offered an arm to her as well.
The soldier watched both young women for a moment, and his sad frown nearly revealed some amusement—or perhaps it was pride. Then La Far reluctantly nodded, and Elia stopped herself from wrapping her arms around her stomach. Instead she nodded back as nobly as possible. She would not return to Innis Lear with her eyes cast down.
Though afraid, she lifted her gaze.
She turned again to face the prow, to face the northwestern horizon where soon would be a black gash against the sea and stars. A black gash of rock, of mountains and moors and gullies, of roots and ancient ruins, of wild dark forests and jeweled beetles.
A star
