The Queens of Innis Lear

our mother died. Taken you farther from his influence. In our grief and unforgiving natures, we allowed you to be coddled, as perhaps is right for a young girl, but no longer for a woman or sister to queens. Now you must look past what you are told, what you are given, and you must rely on your own mind, your own heart. Suspect Aremoria, but give him enough that he maintains hope of alliance through you. If you love him, do as you will, but accept the consequences. That is what I have done. The consequences may be severe, little sister. Marriage to Aremoria would allow him an avenue through which to take the island, unless you stand against it. And remember, if you are his, so will your children be, and belong to the roots of his kingdom.

Probably you are amazed at these words, and narrow those eyes at my lettering to see if this is truly your sister Regan’s hand. Worry not: I harbor my doubts that you will be able to do these things. This is no confession of hidden affection or respect. I love you as I always have: reluctantly, and knowing we might someday be rivals for this crown. Gaela assumes that in your core you are made of the same mettle as we, but I assume nothing, and it has served me very well.

Guard yourself, and guard us. Guard Innis Lear. If your own eyes, Morimaros of Aremoria, trace these words of mine, take them as the threat they are.

In sisterhood,

Regan of Connley and Innis Lear

*   *   *

To the Princess of Lear and Maybe Queen of Aremoria,

Let this be a comfort, an assurance to you, dear lady. We love our poor King Lear greatly, and know in time he will forgive whatever fault he has seen in you and bring you home. Until then, consider our cousins in Aremoria to be as your own. Their name is Alsax. My son Errigal, who you have known as Rory, would speak for them I am sure, as he fostered there with them for three years. Our other, less spoken of, son, whom you also know, was with them longer. He carries a reputation there himself, as the Fox.

Good lady, look to the heavens. Surely the answer to all our terrible times must hang there. As the stars and dread moon have given life to misfortune this season, so shall they bear the means of our triumph.

Earl Errigal

*   *   *

My daughter Aefa,

I know you will share this with your lady, she who is intimate with all your thoughts, though perhaps not prepared for what I would prefer not to speak of. As such, I keep my words brief, though already this introduction has drawn out what might’ve been the truth of brevity into a surplus of concision. So.

I am well.

The king, less so.

I fear he suffers for his unwise decisions to send away both his brother and his daughter. His faith in his stars is shaken, bent, and I cannot tell if breaking it will also break him, or, like bursting a boil, relieve us all. He waits for providence to save him, as he ever has, but he speaks more of Dalat. Both speaks of her, and speaks to her, apologies and regrets, though I cannot discover the core of them. Tell your lady—hello, darling child—he loves her still, and it is a wound in himself he sought to heal when he made all his daughters choose, not a wound in her. He believed in two things: stars and Elia, and to his foolish mind both seemed to turn against him in unison, while the two more like to join in opposition to his will stood hand in hand with smiles in their hearts.

We go tomorrow to Astora, but I know not how long it will last. The eldest daughter of Lear is strong in everything but patience, and Lear As He Is would try even the patience of the sun. I fear soon the king will drive himself away from Astore to Connley, where you know as well as I his welcome will not be assured. But he is not in true danger immediately, from anything but his own stricken madness.

Daughter, I would have you home, but I more would have you wise, and wisdom should keep you in the rich bosom of secure Aremoria. One day soon I will riddle the king into rightness, or he will see a star sign that allows him to pretend I did no such thing, and we will be together again all.

Your father

ELIA

ELIA LEANED INTO the corner crenellation of Morimaros’s westernmost tower, letting it dig into her stomach painfully.

Sheer clouds slipped over the sky, like dawn lifting a cowl to shutter the stars before they vanished entirely. She stared out from her isolated perch, searching into the last curve of nighttime. It was still dark to the west, over unseen, distant Innis Lear. Stars twinkled, drops of ice on smoky glass; the Salmon nosing over the horizon, the Net of Fate beside it, stretching out toward Calpurlugh, the Child Star. Her star.

Her tutor Danna would always say messages that came with the Salmon needed fast response. Then there would be variations to the prediction specific to the day of the season, measured on distance to the equinox, the exact angle at the starbreak over the horizon; all kinds of details she could not calculate without paper and charcoal, without digging into a sheaf of schedules and seasonal records. If she asked, all such would be provided. For Morimaros’s mother, Calepia, and his sister, Ianta, were determined to give her anything to make her smile. But Elia would not ask: she refused to live her life this way anymore, governed by star sign.

Yet she woke every morning and could not help searching the sky for only those most obvious of signs: star streaks or vanished stars or the rings around the moon.

There! A star shot just past the Salmon’s nose and