“Isn’t that a line from a play?” Kal remarks lightly, and because he is correct, the most nervous of the officials laugh.
An expression of such contempt ripples across her face that I recoil. “How dare you mock my grief? What was I supposed to do when Nikonos arrived so unexpectedly in the city accompanied by foreign troops? The instant Kliatemnos and our son lay dead in their own blood at my feet, Nikonos made sure to strip away all my allies. Then he told me I had to agree to bear his child. What would you have had me do, Kalliarkos?” Her sobs are thick with thwarted rage.
“What would you have me do now, Cousin?”
An attendant glides forward to dry her hands and pat her cheeks dry. With fresh confidence, she straightens.
“Marry me. We shall reign as king and queen together.”
His expression goes blank.
I’m choked with disgust, which is a good thing, because otherwise I would scream.
“You have chafed for years in Garon Palace under the rule of your grandmother and Lord Gargaron.” Her voice gains strength. She’s sure of her ground. “Why would you wish to rule as king knowing your grandmother favors your sister while meanwhile your uncle pulls your strings and treats you as his puppet? I would not treat you so.”
“An interesting offer. And should we marry, how would you treat me?”
“As an equal.”
“What of my sister, Meno??”
“Meno?! That na?ve girl? She fancies herself a courageous lioness, but she is nothing more than a squealing pig.”
Father stiffens at this mocking disrespect for his new wife, and I feel his reaction as an insult to Mother even though a tiny part of me is also angry on Meno?’s behalf, knowing what she suffered at Nikonos’s hands.
Kalliarkos laughs so sharply it hurts because he looks as contemptuous as Nikonos ever did, and contempt sits horribly on his usually open and good-natured face.
“What of the East Saroese soldiers who occupy the city, Cousin?” he asks.
“I am not a fool, although everyone treats me as one. I have cunningly misled their general by requesting he barrack his troops in the Grain Market so they do not inflame an anxious population. All the off-duty soldiers can be sealed inside the warehouses and burned to death with a single command.”
I must flinch, because Father nudges me, and it is only then I realize he hasn’t left my side although by rights he should be standing next to the king.
“‘Burned to death with a single command’!” Kal’s tone is flat. “Ah. Well. Wise thinking on your part, Cousin.”
“Of course it is! Efea’s rich harbors and envied trade are due to my administration, not the king’s! These rude foreign men treat me as if I am a decorative flower rather than a queen just because they keep their women ignorant and stupid.”
Kal paces toward her. Just as I think she means to grasp his feet and beg for mercy, she draws herself up instead. For all that I hate her for what she did to her innocent son, I admire her for meeting her fate with dignity.
Kal extends a hand. “You have convinced me, Serenissima. I do not wish to live under my uncle’s heel. We shall proceed now to the temple.”
“We cannot marry today. I am not even dressed for a public appearance. I came here in haste only because of the unexpected nature of your arrival, because I thought you were…”
Because I thought you were Nikonos.
“…I thought you were in need of advice appropriate to the king. My people can tend to all your needs, Kalliarkos. As can I.”
Father’s hand clamps down on my forearm before I realize I’ve taken a step forward, meaning to slap her. Kal has enough discipline not to look toward me even though half his officials do. I have never heard anything so grotesque and disgusting. I’m shaking with anger.
The twitch appears again beside Kal’s right eye. “Speed is of the essence, my dear cousin. An enemy army advances on Saryenia even as we speak. Our situation must be settled before they arrive.”
He gestures a command. His adherents outnumber hers so her attendants must acquiesce. They help her back into the litter. With soldiers a fence on every side, she is carried in procession through the garden and into the forecourt where the carriages await. Kalliarkos does not get into the king’s carriage. Instead he grabs a soldier’s tabard and, pulling it on to hide his royal garb, takes a place amid the guard surrounding the queen’s litter. He must mean to walk all the way down to the temple so as not to be a target. He can’t win if he’s struck down by a lucky shot by an East Saroese soldier or one of Nikonos’s last loyal men.
Wearing this humble raiment, he crosses to us.
“Jessamy must not accompany us,” he says, and to my surprise, Father defies him.
“Your Gracious Majesty, my daughter is not leaving my side. I am sure you understand why I cannot allow her to remain unguarded in the palace.”
My once sweet, cheerful Kal looks held together by a thread of calm so frayed it is close to unraveling. A new hardness lurks behind his eyes. “No, you are correct, General. Keep her close to you.”
“You’re not really going to marry her?” I say in an outraged whisper.
But Kal has already turned his back on me and walks away. Father steers me to the general’s carriage, now hitched to fresh horses. Once we are inside, he shifts like a man who will never again find a comfortable seat.
“Father! He’s not really going to—”
“Of course not. But everyone has now seen the overly familiar way in which you address him. So listen carefully, Jessamy. The risks and pleasures you two took as adversaries, even as captain and Challenger, were reckless and improper—”
“We didn’t know he was going to become king!”
“That is immaterial. It looks as if you and I have colluded with Garon Palace in every respect. The risk of you being poisoned or knifed by courtiers envious of our new position is now exceedingly high. Do you understand me? Do you?”
Father has imagined my death and what it would mean to him. How I hate this. And of course I now recall that Mother warned me about the exact same thing, that being with Kal would mark me for death at the hands of Kal’s own household.
We leave the palace and descend the Avenue of Triumphs in a mockery of a procession.
More people have come out to line the street, but their calm is a thin shell over a seething underbelly of anger at the sight of their hated queen. Muttering sweeps through the crowd like fire through dry grass, only to die away. Like embers, the people only need stirring, and a bit of fuel, to explode into new flame. I push aside the traveling curtains to try to catch a glimpse of Kal, to make sure he is safe, but I can’t spot him among the soldiers.
Father pulls me back inside just as I hear someone shout, “There’s the mule our new master rides!”
No matter how I gasp, I can’t get enough air.
“Jessamy.” Father grasps my chin and turns my face so I have to look at him. I am so humiliated I pull away, and he immediately releases me.