“That’s your plan. Our agreement was that I would betray my people, my family, and my own mother for the cause of Efean freedom. Even if it is right to do it, and it is, it’s still treachery. Because even now”—he gestures toward the many Saroese lining the railings of ships to watch this final act in the play, in which the anguished lover makes her farewell to the doomed prince—“even now they think I am the noble, unblemished hero who willingly and honorably goes to my death to protect them, when it was I who sold them out.”
“I will write a play that will make the tragic tale of King Kalliarkos famous throughout the Three Seas,” murmurs Ro so softly I can’t tell if he is mocking Kal or praising him.
Kal’s gaze rests on Ro for a little too long, his eyes narrowing with a hint of suspicion. Then he shakes his head impatiently, and that’s the worst part of all: that he is willing to undergo this not knowing if Ro has kept his side of the bargain between us.
“All these fine words don’t matter. I could have fought you, Jes. I could have told my uncle and grandmother the truth. But I didn’t. I betrayed all the Saroese people. That is why this burden falls on me.”
On the barge lies a barrel, wrapped in chains, with one end open and its lid propped against its side. A useful custom, Gargaron once said when he threatened my sister and me with execution by this means.
We reach the breakwater at the harbor’s entrance. Smoke billows up from the direction of Eternity Temple, flames leaping in jagged bursts off the pyre. The first of the ships cast their lines, and their rowers pull them out into the channel past our slow-moving barge. And it’s true: the Saroese crowded on the decks call out prayers and blessings upon the king they believe accepted death so they would not be slaughtered.
He stands staring straight ahead.
Ro says, “All those here today will pass this place and remember how the Saroese invasion ended.”
Kal looks at me.
I whisper, “Meet me in the ruins of Garon Palace. Do you promise me? Do you?”
With a gesture he cuts me off, as if he can’t bear to hear my voice. His sketch of a regretful smile makes my heart break, and then he takes in a deep breath and lets it out. He drops to his knees and crawls into the empty barrel.
Ro hammers on the lid.
I can’t move. I can’t speak. I can’t even cry. I have made my gamble and now I fear I have lost. I thought through every spin of the plan except this one: that Kal has a heart, and his heart is broken.
As we reach the edge of the channel Ro, with a spasm of strength and a grimace, shoves the barrel off the barge. It hits with a massive splash. Weighted with so many chains, it plunges like stone, a shadow sinking away from light and air and life. The ripples smooth out and the wind teases waves over the water until it’s as if he were never here at all.
A great shout arises from the ships and the shore. All I can do is stare at the water but of course no head breaks the surface. I cover my face with my hands.
“Turn around,” says Ro curtly to the men at the oars. “Move fast.”
I can’t breathe. I can’t think. White ashes from the still-burning pyre drift down over me, stinging my neck and bare arms.
Ro takes hold of my shoulders and shifts me to face the shore. “Jessamy, his fate is out of our hands now.”
“He’s supposed to kick out the lid. He’s supposed to swim to shore.”
“That’s his choice, not ours. We have a different task. Efea’s future is ours to build.”
When all the highborn Saroese have sailed out of the harbor, a great celebration overtakes the city, except for the barricaded neighborhoods, which are guarded but left untouched. They’ll give way in time. Numbers are against them, and in the end, as Mother says, they will leave or they will remain.
I slip away from the festivities and no one stops me.
In the ruins of Garon Palace I make my way through the rubble to the pavilion where Kal once lived. The remains of a small tray of tea and cakes have been disturbed by wind and mice: a trail of crumbs, a leaf floating in the cloudy tea. During the siege did he come here for a moment’s peace from the intrigues of the palace? Did he think of me?
I sit on the balcony overlooking the once-beautiful garden all afternoon, and all night, and all the next day, but he never shows up.
34
Jes. You need to get up.”
Amaya is poking and prodding me and I don’t have the energy to swat at her.
“You’ve scarcely moved for ten days. You can’t just lie there forever.”
“Leave me alone.”
She grabs my ankles and hauls me off the narrow bed I have claimed for my own. I hit the ground with a thump that rattles me. Once the ache subsides I decide the floor suits me just fine. I cover my eyes with an arm so I don’t have to look at her worried face.
“Jes!”
My silence encourages her to finally leave. It’s so blessedly quiet in this tiny servants’ storeroom at the heart of the queen’s palace. It takes as much effort as I can muster just to breathe in the fragrance of lotus blossoms drifting in from the central garden. I’d rather live anywhere else but Mother says that while the city is still so volatile we girls can’t just wander around freely as if nothing has happened, as if we aren’t her daughters.
I would laugh at the irony but that would take too much effort.
“I have given up,” proclaims Amaya off in the distance, thankfully out of my sight.
“Please, Honored Lady, please tell me that you will take the part of the Benevolent Serenissima when my play opens after things have settled down.”
“She’s the villain! People will throw rotten fruit at me!”
“Yes. In tribute to your skill. If you can make them hate you, that means they love you. Will you think about it, Honored Lady?”
“Your eyes are so beautiful, Honored Sir. How can I resist?”
“With less sarcasm and eyelash fluttering?”
Amaya laughs. “She’s in there. The only reason she eats is that Mother herself, with everything she has to do, personally comes in twice a day to force her to eat a bowl of porridge.”
Rude footsteps disturb my peaceful hideaway. By throwing my other arm over my eyes I hope to doubly protect my gaze, but without a word my unwanted intruder hauls me up and carries me out into the terrible bright sun.
“Leave me alone.”
“Honored Lady, it is good to see you too. With the permission of the Honored Custodian, you and I are going to take a trip to the harbor.”