“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.
“I see many possible consequences to your father’s choices, your sisters’ choices,” Morimaros said softly. She smelled the sweet, clear wine on his breath. It made her want to lick her lips; his nearness pressed her anger in too many directions. The king continued, “Your choices are more mysterious to me.”
“Everything I do is so simple,” she whispered. “I only want to live and practice compassion, and follow the path of the stars and earth saints. I cannot be responsible for the lives and deaths and rages and regrets of others.”
“I want…” Morimaros leaned away from her. He shook his head and turned to gaze at the shadows that overtook his city, turning it violet and blue and gray with deep twilight.
She waited, but he did not continue. As if the king of Aremoria did not know what he wanted, or could not quite bring himself to say the word aloud. “Tell me what you want.”
He leaned on his hands, gripping the stone rail of the balcony. His head dropped, urging her to touch his arm. She did, then slid her hand down the orange coat to place her fingers delicately atop his. Turning his hand up to put them palm to palm, Morimaros said, “I want … to only care about what I want, Elia Lear.”
The words were both heartbreaking and offensive, and yet when her name was in his mouth, it sounded like a queen’s name.
She withdrew her hand and left him below the new-pricked stars, understanding something more about rulership, and rather less about love.
Sister,
I would rather we be together than entrust these words to you by messenger, a fallible man who may read or lose or take too long. But always has it been so, and so always have I put ink to paper and written regardless.
There is a bird haunting my dreams, sister. A great predator clutching the windowsill beside my bed, or standing at the center of my northern altar, talons scoring the granite so that it bleeds. The bird stares at me, stares inside me, and I ask it what it sees, but its hissing words are in no language I understand. I think it is an earth saint, perhaps, in the guise of a tawny ghost owl. I shall ask the forest when I pass through, for we are soon to Errigal Keep.
Connley Castle and the surrounding lands are secure. My husband sent runners to every village and town, to the star towers along the coast, and to his retainers near Brideton especially, darling sister. Be sure to tell your husband. You will not catch us unaware.
If only they would settle between themselves by the trust in our hearts.
Do you—
Gaela, I do not know if I can bear a child.
I cannot send this. Regan you cannot send this. I
* * *
Sister—
We go to Errigal Keep soon, so send your next communication to me there.
Connley Castle is secure, and all our land. My husband sent runners to all our villages
