“That’s the problem! Always more things!” I shouted. “Ambrosine betrayed the kingdom to bloat our family’s wealth. I have to show all of Volarre that we are not like her.”
“It’s not about our wealth, Glisette, or finery, or beauty,” Perennia replied. She draped the unfortunate gown over the back of a chair. I saw myself reflected in her face: ivory skin, long golden hair, sea-glass eyes, high cheekbones. But she possessed a softness that the other three of us Lorenthi children did not. “They’re here to force you to give up your elicrin stone. They want you to become mortal. They no longer want all-powerful rulers. And who could blame them?”
“But I fought for them! I bled so they could live!”
As the words thrust out of me, violent memories returned, memories so horrifying that even my dreams didn’t dare touch them. I winced against the recollection of people trampling one another to escape from Darmeska when I used my elicrin power to freeze and break the gates open; the bodies of the city’s elders on display, feasts for carrion; the way the Moth King controlled the minds of Darmeskans from his tower, forcing them to terrorize their own people; the stinging cold of an arrow that should have killed me; and death’s icy claws trying to drag me away.
Perennia caught my hands in hers. The mellow glow from her rose elicrin stone preceded the familiar peace and relief that snuck in when her Solacer power stole whatever dark emotions thrashed inside me.
“You made great sacrifices,” she whispered. “But Ambrosine and Uncle Mathis hurt our people. Their mistakes shouldn’t be your burdens to bear, but they are because you are a Lorenthi too, and you wear the crown. Going out there in plain garb isn’t going to make a difference.”
For the first time, I wondered whether the Realm Alliance had made a mistake showing lenience to Ambrosine and Uncle Mathis. Both had been put on magical probation and consigned to manual labor, mostly sorting and loading foodstuff for the assistance programs. While Mathis sullenly followed orders, Ambrosine refused to work. She was determined to be a thorn in my side until, ostensibly, I let her return to her old way of life.
But as I’d been riffling bleary-eyed through Uncle Mathis’s documents days before my coronation, a solution presented itself. The king of Perispos had written to Uncle Mathis before the season of crises had begun, expressing an interest in marrying either Ambrosine or me. He had been widowed seven years earlier. Apparently, Uncle Mathis thought I would be suited to the task and had asked King Myron what bride price he was prepared to offer in exchange for my hand.
Upon reading the correspondences, I’d felt sour that I’d ever been treated like property, and then smug that I’d stripped Uncle Mathis of his power to do so. And then I’d grinned with relief and penned a missive to the king immediately. The Realm Alliance had approved, my sister had readily accepted the proposal, and I’d rejoiced to be rid of her. But Mathis, too embarrassed to continue his work, had fled soon afterward. We could have made a tracking map to hunt him down, but he wasn’t worth the trouble. The restrictive enchantment we had placed on his elicrin stone wouldn’t rob him of his immortality, but it would prevent him from using his magic to harm anyone. Besides, tracking maps were an archaic sort of magic, and they had limits; they would not work for anyone harboring malicious intent toward the person they sought, and if I got my hands on Mathis again, I might wring his neck.
Mathis and Ambrosine had stoked a fire of righteous fury in the hearts of our people, yet I was the only one left to burn.
Devorian broke through the gaggle of maids in the doorway and crossed the room to rip the drapes closed. Valory’s unfortunate spell on him had at last worn off, but sometimes his eyes seemed to sparkle golden amber rather than blue green.
“You aren’t going to dignify this, are you?” he asked.
“No,” Perennia answered before I could, releasing my hand.
“Good.” My brother raked a hand through his flaxen, shoulder-length waves. “It will blow over.”
“So I’m to hide out until my people don’t want my head on a pike?” I demanded.
“They don’t want your head on a pike; they want your elicrin stone in a pit. All of ours.” Devorian strode to my tea tray only to frown at the dearth of spirituous or fermented options. “It will take time, but when their situations improve under your rule, their ire will cool.”
I sighed and sank into a chair, striking a woebegone pose before I checked myself and sat up straight. “Perhaps once I sign the decree restricting the border tolls, they’ll—”
“You can’t do that,” Devorian interrupted, spreading margarine over a triangle of toast.
“What? Why not?”
“It’s how the crown recoups investments. What if we must repair or rebuild a bridge and the cost of materials and labor has increased? No, no.” He wagged his finger and took a bite. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
A growl rumbled in my throat. Though Devorian had abdicated his throne to me, the antiquated laws of Volarre still technically required a male principal ruler. That meant I was only the “provisional ruler” until I could revise the statute to the satisfaction of my father’s senior advisors. Hubert supported me, but the other two were cantankerous old bats.
For this, I often found myself resenting Devorian, even when he was only trying to help.
I nearly asked why I would listen to the imbecile who had resurrected the Moth King, but bit back my retort as Devorian’s wife entered the room.
“Are we in danger?” Larabelle asked. Her brown hair, which tended to adhere tightly to her scalp, needed fluffing, and her alabaster cheeks practically begged for rouge. She was lovely, but always quaintly styled, the daughter of a middle-class merchant. I would have intervened, but she disliked fuss on her account. Besides, Devorian might claw me to ribbons if I so much as changed a hair on her head, so fiercely did he love the pretty little mouse.
My brother’s superior expression yielded to a smile so sickeningly sweet that he almost looked like a theatrical mockery of a doting lover. “No, my darling, we aren’t in danger,” he cooed.
“Are you hurt?” she asked, turning to me. “I heard—”
“Not at all.” I waved to dismiss her concern and massaged my forehead. I had imagined ruling would be easy with Valory as queen of Calgoran and Kadri Lillis as queen of Yorth. The rest of the Realm Alliance members were friends, as well: Mercer Fye, Tilmorn Fye, Melkior Ermetarius, and Kadri’s husband, Fabian Veloxen. With so many powerful, good people working toward a common cause, recovering and rebuilding should have been straightforward.
But all that power somehow amounted to weakness; we were so painstakingly careful not to overplay our hand.
I rose from the chair and parted the sea of attendants standing by, shooing them away. “You are all dismissed.”
“You aren’t going to the crowd, are you?” Perennia asked, but I didn’t answer as I marched down the corridor, one of my heeled slippers catching on the sapphire carpet. I sped to a run and descended the curving staircase.
At last I shoved open the door to the gardens and pinned my hand to my ribs, taking in sharp breaths. The distant pandemonium was only a whisper from my quiet refuge of meandering paths and sculpted hedges.